


Voodoo

by JellyfishWeeb100



Series: The Witch [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Cults, Disturbing Themes, Eventual Fluff, F/M, Female Lead, Kidnapping, Lots of Angst, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Mutant Powers, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance, Slow Burn, The Avengers (2012) - Freeform, from the jesus book, im sorry, it gets better later i promise, nothing against Christianity tho, reader is racially ambiguous, reader is vaguely pagan, very loosley based on Abraham and Isaac, y'know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-19
Updated: 2018-04-04
Packaged: 2019-03-06 23:35:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 31,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13422003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JellyfishWeeb100/pseuds/JellyfishWeeb100
Summary: Your life hadn't exactly been rainbows and kittens before the cult- being raised in an orphanage while attempting to mask mutant powers had been hard. But you'd take being locked into closets and having your hair cut in your sleep any day to being kidnapped again.or, a story where a witch with a few screws loose is recruited into the avengers and taught the importance of self-love from a very unexpected source.





	1. On the Run

**Author's Note:**

> Just as a little warning before you dive in, this story will deal with very dark subject matter surrounding cults, trauma, and torture. Please read at your own risk (there will be nothing super graphic and I add warnings to potentially triggering chapters). Thanks for reading!

**Now**

_Only a real dumbass would think a dresser could slow down a trained assassin._

You grimaced at the harsh tone of the voice, continuing to tug the dresser in front of the hotel door as if you hadn’t heard him. Once satisfied with the placement of the furniture, you wheezed out a sigh of relief. Your face and back dripped with sweat, your limp arms burning with strains and muscle tears. You glanced down at your sweat-stained shirt, inspecting your malnourished body once more with a small groan.

_Disgusting._

You glanced at the clock to find yourself in the ungodly hours of the morning. It had taken you all night to simply move a dresser to act as a blockade in front of the door. Knowing it wouldn’t do a whole lot to protect you, you set an alarm on your phone to wake up again in only a couple hours. You needed to get on the road again as quickly as possible.

The phone had barely left your hand before a horrifying thought crossed your mind: Could they be tracking you? You shot the piece of technology an accusatory glare, lifting it to inspect it slowly. Not that you’d really be able to tell a thing like that just by opening up your case, but doing so eased you slightly. After returning it to the bedside table, you slipped between the covers and allowed your strained eyes some rest. 

\----------------------------------------------------

Sleep had not come easily. Between the incessant growling of your stomach and the flashbacks painting your eyelids, you ended up spending your precious napping time staring at the ceiling. As soon as your alarm marked five a.m., you were out of bed like a bullet. 

Despite being a cheap and rather shady hotel, the bathroom came fully stocked with towels and soaps and toothpaste. You had cried tears of delight upon stepping into the steaming water; You couldn’t remember the last time you were allowed a shower. You remained under the hot stream for what felt like hours, taking time to clean the filth and dried blood from your body. Eventually, the suds turned from black to a pleasant cream, deeming you presentable and smelling of roses. The soap seeped into the cuts and scrapes adorning your body, occasionally drawing a hiss of pain from you, but nothing more. You could handle the physical pain; The memories the bruises evoked, however, were far more difficult to stomach. You remained in the shower even after the water had run cold.

A small smile tugged your lips, recalling your interaction with the receptionist downstairs when you had arrived yesterday. She regarded you with wide eyes, her bright red lips pulled into a frown of dismay as if you’d dragged the bubonic plague in with you. After the shower, you proceeded to fill your backpack with every pleasantry provided from the bathroom, even taking the towels.

You slipped on a bulky jumper and a pair of jeans afterward, not bothering to put on your bra seeing as it was still caked in sweat and blood. You wrinkled your nose and looked over your shoulder before stashing the garment between the mattresses of the bed. You hadn’t remembered to grab one from home before taking off, so you’d just have to deal with sagging tits while you were on the run. You shrugged. There are worse things to happen. 

After cleaning the room and making the bed, you grabbed your phone from the nightstand and worked on moving the dresser back to its original position on the wall. It came easier than the night before, but not by much, still leaving you breathless and sweating by the time you’d finished. Across the room, you found glasses and plates in a small cupboard above an equally small sink, and began to fill a glass with tap water. You brought to drink to your lips eagerly, only to be stopped by the familiar voice.

_What if it’s poisoned? You’re such an idiot._

You stared blankly ahead, taking a large gulp as if to challenge him. You could hear him huffing angrily, but ignored it. The water tasted perfectly normal, and small whispers from your glass told you not to be bothered by the man. You smiled at their sympathy and gulped down the rest.  
\--------------------------------------------------------

 

Deep breaths… inhale… exhale….. Inhale……

Your heart strummed so impossibly fast you could feel it in your toes as you approached the receptionist desk. The woman from the night before glanced up from a magazine on the desk, chewing a piece of gum lazily. She narrowed her eyes and sighed, sitting up straighter to help you check out. She suddenly stared at you expectantly, extending a hand out to you.

_She asked you a question, what’re you just staring at her for??_

Your mouth went dry as you fumbled for a response. “Sorry...what?” the blood rushing through your ears was almost enough to drown yourself out.

“Key card, please,” she reiterated, sounding very pissed-off.

“Right…” You reached into your pocket and produced the key, passing it off with the grace of an earthquake.

She eyed you warily as she returned the key to a drawer behind her. “And how would you like to pay today?”

There it was. The question you’d been dreading. “H-How much, again?” You whispered, glancing to the exit a few yards away. 

She hummed thoughtfully and typed a few things into the computer. “One overnight stay...one hundred and fifty dollars,” she smiled back at you as if growing excited with your dismay. 

You shifted nervously, eyeing the exit once more as you weighed your options. The only money you had on you was to cover food for the next week and wouldn’t be enough to pay for both expenses. You kicked yourself for not just toughing it out on a park bench. 

When you dared a glance back at the receptionist, you flinched nearly a foot in the air. Her face had become an ashy gray during your moment of internal debate, her eyes only empty sockets. 

“Well, ____?” She smiled, revealing nubs of teeth stained with red lipstick. “Aren’t you going to pay for the room?”

The color drained from your face, your knees threatening to go slack under your weight. This isn’t real. This isn’t happening right now.

The woman sneered. “You worthless, stupid… ugly piece of shit…” 

“Stop it,” your voice came out much weaker than anticipated. “Stop it, stop it-”

She was shaking her head at you, laughing quietly under her breath. The room around you began to chill considerably, the edges of your vision darkening. 

“We’re coming for you ____. We’re coming to take you away.”


	2. On the Run, Featuring Patriotic Boi and Bird Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson are sent to track down a missing woman.

**Now**

The sandwich and drink in front of you slowly came into focus, the yellow plate a stark contrast to the ashy color of the table they rested on. A slow gaze around the room, as if having just been roused from a deep sleep, revealed a cafe facing a busy street. The room was small- the doors looked only a few yards away from you and the front counter even closer- and contained only a handful of people. You tried your best to orient yourself to your surroundings, gathering from the news broadcast on a tiny television set on the counter that at least a week had passed since your stay at the hotel. You gnawed your lip in thought, recounting only bits and pieces of the days leading up to this one. The fragmented memories revealed a lot of walking through the streets...but not much else. You really weren’t even sure where you intended to go. You had absolutely no family to turn to, and you hadn’t had many friends before...well, before all of this. The only people you could rely on were old coworkers and even then, asking for help in this situation seemed a bit much for a handful of people you weren’t sure even remembered you. No, you’d have to continue alone. Besides, who could be trusted? 

You needed to get out of here before they found you again. 

You shook away the thought and looked back down at the plate, your stomach growling on cue with one look at the sandwich. Your memory of the past week may have been foggy, but you damn well remember that you haven’t had much to eat at all. Everytime your thoughts had turned to food, the voice in your head became irate, screaming a mantra of _“Poisoned, Poisoned, Poisoned,”_ to the point of near insanity. Needless to say, it usually put you off your appetite. 

You picked up the sandwich hesitantly, flinching involuntarily in anticipation of the screaming, but it never came. Perhaps your body had finally given in to starvation. You grinned, shoveling the food down in a matter of seconds, too eager to even taste what you were eating. You wanted to sing with happiness, the knots in your stomach finally quelled. You brought the straw to your lips next and sucked down some sugary drink, your spirits significantly brightened.

The effect would last only another minute, however. The news channel you’d been half-tuned into cut to an interview at a familiar looking hotel. The news anchor asked the woman a question before pointing the microphone to her for her answer. You could barely register their words, your eyes glued to the headline running along the bottom of the screen: “Missing New York Woman, Found? Exclusive Interview with First-Hand Witness, Bethany O’Neill…”

Bethany. Your mind reeled back to the name tag the receptionist at the hotel had been wearing over her cardigan. Only, the Bethany you remembered had been bloated and pale like a corpse with empty eye sockets. Had that been a dream too?

You clung to the woman’s response, using her voice to keep you anchored to your sanity. “Oh yeah, I had no clue who she was,” the woman explained over a piece of chewing gum. “If I’d known she was that missing girl, I would have called in way sooner, y’know?” She sighed and shook her head, acting as if ordering a homeless woman out of her hotel wounded her morality. 

_Bitch._

You nodded in agreement, watching as the anchorman asked her more about the interaction with this mystery woman. 

“Well, that’s what was so weird. I tried to get her to pay during her checkout and she started freaking out on me,” Bethany rolled her eyes. “Next thing I know, she’s screaming her head off and making a run for it…”

Your face paled, but you continued to watch, unable to look away from the disaster slowly unfolding. 

The anchorman turned back to the camera with a deep sigh, “Thank you for your time, Bethany. A truly upsetting thing to hear. Police remained skeptical of this story until they investigated the woman’s bedroom. Upon searching, police discovered a woman’s brassiere tucked into the bedframe,” on cue, a picture of your stained undergarment flashed on the screen. “A forensics team has revealed that the blood on the clothing matches the DNA of ____ ____, who has been missing for over a month now.”

Your stomach dropped at the realization of your grave error. Of course they’d figure out it was yours, why the hell didn’t you just take it with you? 

_Stupid, fucking idiot. They’re going to find you. It’s only a matter of time now._

Another image filled the screen, this time a picture of you with some of your old friends. “If you have any information about ____, please call the number on the screen.”

Behind you, a fork clattered to the ground. You jerked your head back, making eye contact with a bewildered old man. While he ogled you as if you had grown a third eye, his elderly wife whipped a cell phone from her purse, clumsily punching in the number she’d seen. 

You looked back around to see the entire diner trained on you, a couple of people pulling out phones like the woman had to either call the police or snap a photo. 

_Shit, shit, shit._

Near the back, two men with baseball caps covering their eyes stood up from a table, each of them easily towering others with their height and mass. The taller of the two, wearing a baby blue shirt pulled taught over muscles, made his way straight to your table. The other, dressed in grey, walked to the television and calmly turned it off, plunging the room into a tense silence. 

Your eyes wandered up to the man’s face hovering above yours, his blue eyes seeming far too soft and friendly for the given situation. He looked familiar somehow, but you couldn’t determine why. Your hands curled around the strap of your backpack, feet planting on the floor to make a break for it.

The man noticed your body coiling tighter, ready to spring, and placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. “Ma’am, may we have a word with you?” He asked in the most charming, Captain-ly tone he could muster. 

You immediately flinched away from his hand as if you’d been burned, the color draining from your cheeks. You shook your head slowly, praying they might leave you alone if you just ask politely. 

No such luck. The other man joined his side and sent you a wide smile, dark facial hair adorning his chin. “Don’t worry, we won’t bite. We can take this outside if you’re more comfortable?” He gestured to the door, maintaining a polite expression. 

You swallowed and nodded slowly. Yes, yes this could work. You were on the brink of starvation, sure, but being outside at least gave you a fighting chance of escaping. You slid out of the booth, holding your backpack securely to your chest. You walked to the door robotically, a hand on the small of your back the entire time. The diner remained silent even as you were leaving.

“Please don’t do this,” you whispered, the plea escaping your lips without any thought. Your busted, old trainers scraped against the concrete with each step. Even the streets of New York seemed to stand still; The city held its breath in anticipation for you.

The taller man furrowed a pair of blond brows, looking down at you skeptically. “Miss, we don’t intend to hurt you. We just need to ask you a few questions.” He's beginning to lead you to the alley behind the cafe and your mind is a mess imagining what they could be planning.

You nodded numbly, barely aware of what he was saying anymore. Your heart began to thunder in your ears, your vision clouding. No, no- you can’t start panicking now. You need to focus on escaping. Escaping without revealing your powers if possible.

His mouth formed another sentence, but your mind was too jumbled to concentrate on the words. You thought he was asking if you’re alright. You nodded stiffly.  
The man reached out to cup your cheeks with a concerned expression, but you sprung into action before he could touch you. You take off sprinting, running faster than you’ve ever run before. You tear through crowds, barely aware of the people you’re knocking over. 

The pair take off after you, the taller man reaching you in seconds. He reached out and grabbed your wrist, yanking you to a halt. His own eyes widened when he saw the absolute terror on your face when you turned back around.

“P-Please… don’ touch m’,” you slurred out, trying to rip your hand away. “M’sorry, m’so sorry I can’t-” The voices are becoming uncomfortably loud and you reach up with a free hand to feel if your ears are bleeding.

“She’s having a panic attack, help her sit down over here,” the shorter man breathed, any trace of a smile gone from his lips. He pulled you to the curb, guiding you into a seated position. 

_StupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupidStupofgnwborfbwoinef_

You let out a strangled cry, dropping your head between your knees. The last thing your mind registers before blacking out is one of the men telling you to breathe through your nose.


	3. This ones the third chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader-chan reveals more very vague hints about a past life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: mentions of animal abuse.

**Then**

Andrew Miller was not very popular with the other children at Saint Mary’s institution. 

He had always been a charming young man, one with stellar grades and a spot on the little league baseball team in his city, but when an accident left his face permanently disfigured with scars, he became an outcast. His parents had perished in a house fire, but the flames had not consumed him completely, only decorating his body with cruel reminders of that day. He often wished he had died along with the rest of his family.

He was admitted to the orphanage at the age of eleven. The older teenagers were cruel; His body often the victim of their abuse. When they were through beating him, they would spit on him and call him vile names until they were satisfied. Most nights, Andrew would stay up later than the others just to have the bathroom to himself to wash away the blood and dirt from his skin. After a year of bullying, Andrew had begun to fantasize of torturing the older kids, becoming consumed with bitterness. Every punch, every insult only fueled to his growing madness. 

He began using animals as a way to vent his frustrations. There was an old orange tabby cat that wandered around the campus, often visiting the children at lunch in hopes of some extra scraps. One afternoon while the other children were attending choir practice, Andrew snuck around looking for the cat. It didn’t take long to find him; He sat on the front steps grooming himself lazily, and looked up as the boy approached. He played target practice with the poor creature that day, using the jagged stones from the pond just off campus. The next afternoon, he experimented with how long the cat could hold its breath. 

A few weeks later, just as he was growing bored with the tabby, a fresh new plaything arrived at the orphanage. A girl his age with long, (h/c) braids and a permanent expression of fear on her face was admitted. She sat alone from the others, isolating herself. She must have been mute, because after a few days the teachers quickly learned not to call on her for answers in class. She would grimace and bite her lips anytime someone approached her, unable to engage in conversation. The other girls in her dorm became annoyed with her as well; Even calling her nasty names was a waste without some sort of a response. 

Andrew made it his personal agenda to get the girl to say something. Better yet, until she finally could, she had no way to tattle on the children that bullied her. His favorite game was yanking her outrageously long hair until it elicited some sort of noise. 

Yes, he decided. This girl was a far more exciting toy than some stupid cat. 

\-----------------------------------------------------

**Now**

The first thing you registered when waking up was the feeling of silk against your skin. You kept your eyes closed, trying to fall back asleep in the gloriously comfortable bed until you realized where you were. You felt your stomach drop and you snapped your eyes open, taking in the sterile, white surroundings of the room. You were completely alone besides the methodical ticking of a clock. 

You attempted to climb out of the bed, only to find your arm attached to an IV drip to your left- oh god, no. Not this again. You began to panic, hurriedly ripping the needle from your inner arm and clamping a hand over the wound to stop the bleeding. You tried bolting from the bed, only for your feet to become tangled in the sheets and send you tumbling to the ground. 

A door on the other side of the room, one that blended seamlessly with the wall, slid open and a man rushed inside. “Easy there-” he chuckled and stooped over to help you up. “You can relax, you aren’t in any danger.”

You found that hard to believe. You looked up to find yourself staring into a pair of deep brown eyes, crinkled with a smile. He helped you onto the bed and took a step back- he wore a pair of dark jeans and a brown sweater that complimented his complexion well. “How are you feeling? Oh boy-” he breathed, his smile falling when he caught sight of your arm. He reached down to inspect the wound, but you recoiled from the touch, holding the arm protectively. He pursed his lips and sighed. “You were dangerously malnourished when you were brought in, the drip was just to uh, to help with that,” he scanned over your face as he spoke as if you were going to lash out at any second. “I’m Doctor Bruce Banner, I’m here to help you, ____.”

“Don’t lie to me,” you hissed out, voice cracking from disuse. “I’m here now. There’s no point trying to make me feel safe. You’ve done your job.”

His eyebrows drew together and he sighed. He turned and grabbed a chair, pulling it up to the side of the bed. “____, do you know where you are?”

You stared at him, swallowing thickly as you began calculating an escape plan. You nodded.

“You’re in the medical ward of the Avengers tower. Members of our team were sent to retrieve you yesterday,” he explained slowly, gauging your reactions carefully.

The terrified expression on your face slipped into one of confusion. Avengers? As in, the world’s first line of defense against all things alien and villainous? You’d heard of them occasionally during your time at the orphanage, but assumed it was all for show- a face that the nation could look to for hope while real soldiers fought real battles behind the scenes. Superheroes just didn’t exist, not for you at least. 

If this Bruce Banner were really telling the truth, then that would mean you were either safe or in even more danger than you’d expected. Avengers equal government, and what the government wanted from you, you had no clue.

You let out a sigh of relief. At least you weren’t back _there_ again. 

Banner reached out again for your arm, and this time you hesitantly let him have a look at it. He clicked his tongue and walked back to the cupboards along the wall to retrieve a bandage. After patching up the small cut, he sat back and watched you. “Once you’re feeling better, we do need to ask you some questions. Don’t worry- you aren’t in trouble,” he added after seeing the shift in your body language. “I’ll be back soon with dinner, all right?”

With that, he smiled and left through the mysterious door once more. After closing behind him, you realized it would be damn near impossible for you to find that door again. 

You were trapped once again, only the confines of your cell had been disguised with comforting silk sheets and smiling doctors.


	4. Something's missing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader-chan blows up at American Boi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delayed post I've been busy working on a tide-pod anime girl oc tbh

**Now**

True to his word, Doctor Banner had provided a large meal to you half an hour later. You started digging in with wolfish ferocity, distantly aware of the fact that The Voice hadn’t tried to interrupt you once. He must be waiting, you figured, calculating and planning how you were going to get out of here. You tried not to let his silence worry you. 

Bruce Banner, you learned, was a very kind man. He refrained from any judgement while you fed like a madman, and provided you with clean clothes to change into. Occasionally he would lean in close enough for you to sense his aura: a deep blue thing, whispering like cotton and smelling of sage. You were still wary of this place, but this calmed you significantly. 

He returned through the wall-door once you’d finished changing into the clothes provided. The black jumpsuit hugged your body like a glove, and you found yourself fiddling with the zippers self-consciously. 

“Alright, if you’re ready there’s a couple of people who would like to meet you.” He led you through the door, keeping a hand on your arm to guide you. The rest of the medical ward closely resembled your room- the floors white and shiny, the rooms bland. The only difference being the floor to ceiling windows that covered half the walls, revealing the city far below you. 

Before you could get lost in the view, he tugged you to an elevator and selected a floor. How he managed to remember where he was going with so many floors you had no clue. The elevator ride was painfully silent for a moment, each of you awkwardly eyeing the floor. Finally, Banner broke the tension.

“I meant to say something earlier, but that’s some impressive hair you’ve got,” he remarked with a kind smile, glancing over at you.

Your shoulders stiffened and you nodded robotically. “Yes.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, it’s just unique is all,” he chuckled. “Does it take long to braid it?”

You shrugged. “I wouldn’t know,” you answered honestly. “It was pleated long ago by my grandmother.” You frowned slightly as the words spilled from you. Normally, The Voice would warn you from divulging any information like that. Perhaps you were a little too at ease around this man. 

He watched you, his mind racing with questions. Before he could ask anything, the elevator doors slid open, revealing another hallway. “This way.”

You followed him closely, retracing every step and turn in your mind in case you needed to get away. He stopped in front of a room lined with glass walls, a sort of conference table within. Inside, the man who you’d seen at the cafe immediately caught your attention. It made sense now why he seemed so familiar- you must have seen him on the news at some point. Saving the world and all that. Beside him, a man with receding brown hair and a sharp suit sat smiling at you. Once again, you couldn’t figure out why everyone was acting so friendly. His expression seemed out of place in such a serious setting. On the other side of cafe-guy sat a very intimidating man, an eyepatch covering scars on his face. His dark, leather outfit and brooding expression couldn’t help but remind you of teenagers you’d seen exiting Hot Topic. 

Eyepatch man spoke first. “Please, Miss ____, have a seat. Doctor Banner, you are dismissed.”

Bruce cast you a reassuring smile before nodding in respect to the man, taking his leave. You suddenly felt much more nervous with him gone. You pulled out the chair across from the trio, sitting down cautiously. It was difficult to get a read on any of them, their auras blending together and clogging your senses anytime you tried to pick them out. 

“I’d like to introduce you to Agent Phil Coulson,” the man pointed to the smiling brunette who offered his hand. You shook it hesitantly, using the brief contact to read him. He didn’t feel malicious, at least. A strong leader, yet overflowing with kindness. 

“And this is Steve Rogers- or, Captain America. He helped to track down and retrieve you.” The blond man, Steve, held a hand out on cue of his introduction and shook your hand. Your first impression of his aura was an overwhelming sense of justice.

“Pleasure to meet you properly. I apologize for giving you such a fright back there,” he smiled sheepishly and released you, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Pirate man opened a manila folder in front of him, revealing a stack of official-looking documents and photographs. You tried to peek across the table at them, but the man keep an arm carefully out to block prying eyes. “I am Colonel Nick Fury, director of SHIELD. We would like to ask you a few questions.”

You nod, gripping the edges of your chair in anticipation. 

“What can you tell us about the Herrschaft Organization?” He reads the name from the file before gazing up at you, his stare cold and calculating. You think you can sense his aura easier now through the sheer intensity of his stare. His spirit is pitch black and smells of blood, but beneath it lies something similar to Steve Roger’s aura- a sense of justice and leadership. You aren’t sure whether to fear or admire him.

You swallow thickly. You weren’t expecting that question right off the bat. “I-I don’t have a clue what that is…”

“We know what they did, ____. You don’t have to protect anyone. Help us find them so we can put a stop to this,” Fury’s voice had become more determined and you couldn’t help the sudden desire to tell him everything you know. You could see what made him such an effective leader now. 

“T-They um,” your voice came out much weaker and you needed to clear your throat to continue. “They find mutants. I don’t know how, but they do. They take them… and uh,” you trailed off, eyes trained on the table. Your heart had begun to beat erratically again and you took several deep breaths to quell the desire to vomit. 

“It’s alright,” the Captain’s voice cut in gently. “We can move on.” It sounded more like an order pointed at Fury than anything else, and the director reluctantly agreed.

“Yes, alright. Do you know the current location of Herrschaft?”

You shook your head, answering honestly. “I really don’t know. I can’t remember much about my escape, or how I ended up back at my apartment.” 

This time, it was Agent Coulson’s turn to speak. “Have they attempted to contact you since?”

You shrugged. “Not that I’m aware of. I’ve been trying to cover my tracks.” Your mind went back to the interview on the news with Bethany and you grimaced. Okay, maybe not covering your tracks as you well as you should be. 

As if reading your mind, Coulson said, “Don’t worry, you’re in safe hands now. SHIELD actually offers an impressive witness protection program, if you’re interested.”

You nodded slightly, looking between the three of them. The growing silence felt deafening without The Voice here taunting you, but you try not to focus on the worry nagging at you with his sudden disappearance. 

Fury sighed deeply, looking up from the documents. “We would also like to know the extent of your powers. We can run some tests here in the tower, perfectly harmless of course.”

You snapped your gaze up, feeling like you’d been drenched in ice-water. The Agents before you seemed good-natured from what you could tell, but this situation was already feeling far too familiar and far too dangerous. The last time your powers had been tested, it had been under torturous circumstances, ones that you wouldn’t even wish on your worst enemy. 

“No,” Your answer came with sudden determination, leaving no room for argument.

The Captain’s gentle expression turned harder, a face that he reserved for barking orders to his team in the heat of battle. “____, I know this isn’t easy, but we need your cooperation to dismantle this organization.” Everything about his tone implied: _you’re being selfish, innocent people will die without this._ You had to physically resist the urge to roll your eyes. Before you could stop, you were bursting with anger, your voice raising louder than it had in a long time. 

“And what do you know Captain? Tell me, have you ever been taken from your home, had _every little thing_ ripped away from you in the space of a month? I’m willing to bet you haven’t been abused and tortured in the ways that the mutants within Herrschaft have. Your team’s little public displays of power are _nothing_ compared to the sacrificing of innocent lives within those walls. Children, Steve! I watched children beaten to death, and where were you then? Where were the Avengers to swoop in and save the day then?” By now, you started shaking, gripping the table so hard you thought it might snap. “I want Herrschaft destroyed more than any of you, but don’t expect me to give one hundred percent to another organization that picks me up off the streets. Give me reason to trust you, and I’ll show you what I can do.”

Coulson and Rogers stared bug-eyed at you, both of them looking like they’ve swallowed lead. Fury simply watched you panting from the exertion of your speech with a smirk on his face. Oh yes- he knew he was going to like you. 

Rogers tugged at his shirt collar, gaping like a fish as he considered what to say, but Fury spoke before he had the chance, “You make an excellent point. You can stay here in our witness protection program like Coulson said while we figure out a way to prove you wrong about us.”

They all turn to you, waiting for your answer.

...

“Deal.”


	5. Episode

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Without The Voice, reader starts to get kinda fidgety. Things take a turn for the worse. Reader hears a new voice, but this one is not as imaginary as the rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER:  
> -graphic depictions of bullying and violence.   
> -schizophrenic episode.

**Then**

The cafeteria in Saint Mary’s was entirely too loud, you decided. 

Your entire life had been turned in just one week, and you were struggling with every fiber of your being just to function. Eat, sleep. Breathe. Everything felt strenuous and heavy, like your body had become lead overnight. You weren’t even sure the world still turned outside because your eyes had been trained on your shoes since you’d been brought here. If the other orphans had attempted to be friendly towards you, you hadn’t a clue; your mind had begun to tune out the sounds around you. 

But it didn’t matter how hard you tried, that wretched cafeteria still thrummed with voices so loud it threatened to melt your brain some days. The institution itself was quite small as well, so all of the children crowded into the cafeteria when the weather outside was unfavorable (which was common for your small hometown, Castine). The noise itself felt like a twisted joke- like a constant reminder that while you felt as if your body were eating itself alive, the rest of the world lived on happily. You hated it. 

So there you sat, alone at a table near the back corner, scratching shapes into the wood while you waited for someone to tell you you were allowed to go and back to the dorms. Occasionally, the wood would splinter and wedge under your fingernail, drawing blood. You really shouldn’t have enjoyed the feeling as much as you did. 

“What’re you doing?” A boy asks from across the table. The sound reaches you slowly as if coming through a tunnel. You lift your head to take him in. He looks barely older than you with a mop of dark brown hair and blue eyes, a gnarly scar bubbling the skin on about half his face. You realize you’ve been looking at the scar for too long when he snarls, “I asked you a question, quit staring and answer me.”

Oh god, it felt good. Andrew hadn’t spoken like that to someone in years, if ever. However, the glow dampened slightly when you didn’t react at all to what he’d said. You blinked sleepily at him, seeming dazed. No matter. He’d knock that groggy look right off your face if he needed to.

“Come with me,” he ordered, grabbing you by the wrist. You complied easily, stumbling after him like a rag doll yanked from a shelf. He didn’t really know what he planned to do to you, but he was growing giddier with every step towards the back exit. 

All the while, you found yourself torn with wanting to reach out and feel this boy’s aura and wanting to contain your power. You fought this inner battle anytime someone came close lately- after all, grandmother had raised you to be proud of your magick lineage. But now that she was gone… No- not now. Think of such things later. Right now there’s a boy dragging you outside by the wrist, likely to try getting you to play “tetherball” or whatever the hell that game was the other girls wanted you to play.

Outside, the rain pounded against the cement walkways, soaking the two of you instantly. He pulled you a safe distance from the campus before tossing you to the muddy grass like a stone. 

“Eat it, bitch.”

Okay, so maybe not tetherball. You shot him a bewildered expression, sitting up on your knees. 

Andrew was becoming impatient, wanting to get this done before a teacher discovered them. He grabbed you by the back of the head, all but smashing your face into the wet grass. “I. Said. Eat.” he ground out, grinning to himself while he held you pinned. Yes, he thought, this would wipe that look right off your stupid face. 

Eat the grass? Is this really how other children behave with one another? Grandmother had warned you of bullies, but even this seemed excessive and childish. After waiting a long moment and realizing he wasn’t going to let you go anytime soon, you hesitantly snagged a tuft of grass between your teeth. 

Andrew’s eyes widened as you pushed him away, glaring him down as you chewed the grass. After a moment, the bored look returned to your face and you spat the green clump in front of him. 

“Satisfied?” You sighed.

His chest inflated with rage, your response pissing him off to the point that he’d barely registered that he’d accomplished his goal in getting you to speak. This wasn’t how this was meant to go. He was supposed to be in control. Why weren’t you afraid right now?

The second you’d said the word, you’d regretted it. You watched as his face grew red and contorted in rage, only having a split second to flinch before his fist connected with your temple, sending you into instant blackness. 

**Now**

Only two weeks into SHIELD’s program and you’ve already finished every book provided in the small nightstand beside your bed. Only two weeks in and you’re already convinced you’ll die a slow death of fidgeting and pacing. You’ve long since grown tired of counting the tiles in the kitchen and napping the days away. The suite provided to you in the tower is nice and just large enough to accommodate two people comfortably, but despite the inherently pleasant atmosphere that accompanies stage-homes, it lacks any personality whatsoever. You know it’s wrong to complain; you _had_ been sleeping on the streets before coming here, but the place was still beginning to feel more like a prison cell with each passing day. 

You were not allowed to leave the tower, period. Coulson had reminded you of that just last week when you tried escape for a little walk. Just a walk around the block! You feel like it’s a tad overkill on their part, but you need to trust that they are only trying to keep you safe. After a week, you’d begun to realize that they didn’t intend to stick you with needles and cut up your brain for science, so you deemed them worthy of said trust. After being unable to rely on anyone for so long, you must admit- it feels good to put faith in others. For once, you feel safe (at least, to some extent) under the care of other people. Yes, this was a good decision.

Besides, if it weren’t...wouldn’t the voice have said _something_ by now?

In nearly a month, you haven’t heard so much as a cough from him. It felt pretty messed up to be missing someone who isn’t really there, but yet here you are, stretched out on the couch wondering when he’ll come back. You were beginning to feel more and more empty as time went on without him- the voice was what grounded you during episodes. You clung to your hallucinations like a lifeline, afraid that you would drown if you ever let go of them. The whispers from the shadows became a comfort during your days in Herrschaft, keeping you giggling in between shouts of agony. 

You shrugged away the negative thoughts creeping in and stood up, hoping a little rose-water bath would heal your mind. They always had when your grandmother drew them for you, something purely magick swirling from her fingertips as she would massage the flowery soap into your braids. 

Your heart tugged at the memory and you found yourself eager to drown away that thought as well. 

\-------------------------------------

A shrill scream pierced the air, and your heart pounded so violently you hadn’t even realized it had come from you. At some point during the bath, you closed your eyes to relax, only when you opened them you weren’t in your bathroom anymore. You were back in that room, your blush pink bath water replaced with blood. The red stuck to your skin, clumping your hair and your teeth. The desire to vomit comes so quickly you barely make it over the side of the tub before your stomach is expelling itself. 

The room is exactly how you remember it, steel floors, steel walls, and an operating table several feet away, also drenched in blood. The air is thick and muggy with the smell of burning flesh, hanging so heavily you think it will choke you. From behind the door, you hear someone whispering your name. They’ve come back to hurt you more, you realize. 

You scramble out of the tub as fast as you can, looking around for a weapon but coming up empty-handed. The voices grow louder until they’re shouting your name repeatedly, begging you, it seems. You scream again before crumbling to the floor in a hyperventilating mess, covering your ears to soften the noise. It does little to help.

_This is pathetic, girl. Even on Midguard, I’ve never seen someone act so childish and fragile._

This snaps you from the reverie almost instantly, your breathing returning to normal. That voice- could it be-?

Except it isn’t. When you open your eyes again, instead of seeing the brunette boy who bullied you all those years ago, you see a slim face devoid of much color, framed with ebony hair. His blue eyes pierce your soul, rendering you speechless. The bathroom slowly comes back into focus behind him.

_Better?_ His voice enters your consciousness again and he tilts his head to inspect you. It’s then that you realize he’s holding your very bare shoulders still, nothing concealing you from this complete stranger. Your face explodes into a vibrant red.

“Oh my god,” you croak, trying to cover as much of yourself as you can in your crouched position. The man chuckles, though it sounds more annoyed than sincere, and stands up.

“Oh my god is right, what the hell was that?” Tony Stark, who you’ve only met about three times before, steps into view and drapes a towel over you unceremoniously. You pull it tightly over your body, trying to come up with a reply while two, grown-ass men who you don’t know are standing over you with crossed arms. You’d feel like a child receiving a scolding if the situation weren’t so fucked up.

The bathroom around you is a mess. Your herbal bath appears to be more on the floor than in the tub, likely form you thrashing around in the fit. A puddle of vomit lays not too far from where you sit guiltily. 

Tony sighs and supplies, “We heard you screaming from the floor below this one. I have the power to override the tower’s security, so naturally, I found you first. You were just kinda...not here. You wouldn’t respond to anything.”

You may have only met Tony a few times, but his snarky nature was something one quickly gets used to. Maybe that’s why the softening of his features when he tells you this and the genuine concern in his tone shocks you. Even his aura feels more subdued from where you sit. You must’ve really given him a fright.

The dark-haired man speaks next, answering the question that he could tell was on your tongue. “I followed Stark out of curiosity during your fit. I hope you don’t mind, but I tapped in here to see what was troubling you so,” he pointed to his head, smirking slightly. The words would have sounded like an actual apology had they come from anyone else, but for some reason from him they felt more taunting. Did he actually find this funny?

When you don’t reply, he continues. “You were having some sort of vivid hallucination. I used a little magic to calm you down.” _Like this,_ he adds. 

You inhale sharply to keep from rolling your eyes. He's acting like he deserves some sort of gratitude for playing around in your brain. “That’s invasive,” you finally murmur, watching as the smirk twitches and fades from his face. You turn to Tony, “I’m really sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

One apology is all it takes, and Tony Stark seems to spring right back into his cocky, pompous play-boy attitude. “Don’t worry about it Carrie, just clean up here when you’re done.”

The reference is lost on someone like you who grew up without even a radio to speak for in your home, leaving you confused by the name more than offended. 

With that, he turns and strides out the door, already exhausted with the situation. He’ll bring it up to Bruce later that the anxiety medication they have you on isn’t very effective if your episodes are still occurring. The other man remains, watching you pick yourself up off the floor with a bit of struggling. “Does this happen often, girl?”

You mistake his earnest tone for one of sarcasm after his attitude earlier and immediately snap back, “That’s not any of your concern, and I have a name, boy.”

His face twists up in anger. The one time he sought to comfort a fellow avenger, and this is the treatment he gets? He huffs and turns, storming out the way he came. “You’d better keep it under control witch. I will not help you again, believe me.”

You glare at his retreating form, grinding your teeth to stop the tears threatening to fall. 

“...Fine!” 

“Fine!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gee whiz sorry this took forever. I had a really hard time figuring out how this one should go and I rewrote it a couple of times. still not completely satisfied, but oh well. Also- 21 kudos already?? that's insane! thank you all for the support :')


	6. Bait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki is the bisexual chaotic neutral icon we all need in our lives

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took forever to finish :-( it's kind of a doozy, and I really wasn't sure where to go with it at first. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Small warning- brief flashback of the kidnapping

**Now**

The god of mischief sits at the end of the conference table, looking painfully bored with the meeting while the other Avengers argue around him. He closes his eyes and props his chin in his hand with a mournful sigh. All this teamwork-talk was making him tired. His mind flitted back to his interaction with you a few days ago, the nagging hint of concern that accompanied this thoughts of you returning. He struggled to wave the emotion off, dismissing your episode as nothing more than a nightmare.

Only, that was precisely the problem. He’d seen your hallucination- _felt_ the absolute terror you harbored from only a glance into your mind. He felt something akin to empathy then- knowing all too well the trauma that plagued you at night. He wasn’t familiar with this new emotion, _empathy._ It’s not as if he’s some sort of sociopath, but he had shoved it out of his heart long ago, allowing room for hatred and revenge to burn there instead. It was the only way he could become king of Asgard without feeling anything.

That is, if things had gone according to plan. He had severely underestimated Earth’s “mightiest heroes” and had returned to Asgard in bitter retreat, towed along by his older brother. Ever since his exile from the palace and his return to Midguard years ago, he’d become acquainted with many new emotions- humility and fear being only a few. The Allfather had not gone easy on Loki; curses bound his magick power and reduced it to nothing more than parlor tricks, and threatened to split his tongue should he ever deceive the Avengers again. He had no choice but to behave while in the custody of SHIELD else he face the wrath of his father’s magick (or Thor’s Mjölnir). 

Even years later, the betrayal of the Allfather still stung Loki and there were moments when he daydreamed of new revenge plots, but it was clear to the rest of the team that he’d been tamed significantly since his exile. Director Fury upgraded his status as prisoner to “probationary Avenger” just a month ago. 

That thought brings his focus to the meeting at hand- a couple of months ago, humans with special abilities had been turning up missing all over the country, calling for the immediate attention of SHIELD. Apparently, the situation was so dire they’d even recruit someone like himself to assist them. Presently, the team’s acquired the location of one of Herrschaft’s secretaries and intends to stake them out and gather information. However, it seems that the team can’t even agree on how the operation should be handled.

Loki sighs again, pinching the bridge of his nose. _I’m not sure these people can be classified as a “team” when all they do is fight each other…_

Nick Fury enters the room now, looking at the Avengers with burning annoyance. The team immediately quiets down and takes their seats at the conference table. Fury opts to stand at the back of the room, using a remote to flip through a series of slides on a hologram projector stationed on the wall. Images of the targeted man fill the screen while Fury briefs them on the mission.

“This is Eric Fischer- secretary to the president of the Herrschaft organization for the past year, according to our sources. Fischer has been seen in Queens, staying in a motel. The same motel, if you’ll recall, where we tracked down ____ ____.” With that, a blurry image of Fischer standing in the motel parking lot appears. “We believe the organization is attempting to locate Miss ____, which would mean they’re playing right into our hand. With Miss ____’s approval, we will move forward with the investigation.”

Loki goes rigid at the implication of his words, his brow furrowing. Across him, the Captain shares a similar expression, looking paler. 

The Captain clears his throat, “You don’t mean… We aren’t using her as bait, are we?” He too had seen one of your panic attacks in person. He knew there’d be no way you’d agree to it, unless-

“You are. And you plan on tricking her into it, I assume?” Loki finishes for him. Normally he wouldn’t give a single fuck about taking advantage of a mere mortal, but this was different. This time they were using _you_ , and for whatever reason he didn’t like that one bit. 

Fury bristles and shoots him a warning glare, reminding him of his place in all of this, but doesn’t deny the accusation. “She said it herself that she wanted us to prove we can be trusted. Protect her out there and we can accomplish just that.” 

The rest of the Avengers seem to be equally surprised (perhaps not Agent Romanov, but does anything surprise that woman?), but hide their reactions better than the captain. Steve stares at him, his jaw slack. He doesn’t talk back, but his entire body is tense enough to snap. 

Fury reads the atmosphere in the room, but doesn’t back down. He’s well aware of how sinister the plan seems on the outside, but he knows it may be their one chance to get the answers they need. Besides, he has faith in his team- he knows you aren’t in any real danger. So, he’s willing to look like the bad guy for now. “Be ready to leave by midnight.”

Oh- Loki doesn’t like this at all. He watches the director leave, glaring daggers at him the entire time. Maybe this empathy emotion was stronger than he thought for him to be getting all worked up over one girl. 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------

“A stake out?”

You stare wide-eyed at the agent before you- who you’d recently been introduced to as Natasha Romanov. You knew Fury wouldn’t let you just sit around for forever and expected your help at some point, but you hadn’t expected it so soon. Not only that, but why would they need your help with something so menial?

The red-haired assassin nods, taking a seat across from you at the small dining room table in your suite. Being this close floods your senses with her aura- like Fury’s, hers feels dark and riddled with tragedy. She has no magical capabilities as far as you can tell, but there’s something fearsomely powerful about her. A shudder runs up your spine. 

Sensing your hesitation, she quickly adds, “You won’t be in any danger. We plan to lure a member of Herrschaft out of hiding and take him in for questioning.”

Something unsettles you with those words. You can’t sense a lie in her sentence, but you know she isn’t giving you the full truth. You go for an offensive approach, narrowing your eyes at her. “This isn’t an ordinary stake-out, else why would you need me?” You really do try to sound as calm and cool as Agent Romanov, but it comes out paler in comparison. You try again. “This is more dangerous than you’re making it seem, isn’t it?”

Her eyes widen a fraction, but only briefly before her face becomes stone again. “You’re quick.”  
She straightens up and takes a deep breath, giving you a more serious look- one that you feel pierces your soul directly. “To be frank with you, you’re right. This is going to be dangerous. That said, it’s our mission right now to watch over you, so if you choose to cooperate with us we can guarantee protection on our half. We need that cooperation, ____. We can’t dismantle Herrschaft without you.”

You swallow her words slowly, looking her in the eye to show you’re taking this seriously. “Tell me what I need to do.”

\------------------------------------------------------------

The backpack is much lighter on your shoulders now than the first time you’d been here. Instead of carrying every essential and the kitchen sink, it only carries a sort of tracking device (should the plan go sour) and a small speaker for the agents outside to hear your exchange with Fischer. Along with that, an earpiece the size of your pink nail sits secure in your ear. It crackles to life, a sign that the transmission is now connected.

“____, can you hear us?” Steve’s voice fills your ear, making you flinch in surprise. 

“Yes,” you breathe, eyes darting wildly around the diner. The place is empty save for a couple of agents disguised as civilians. Even so, flashbacks of the day your identity was discovered distract your thoughts.

“Alright good. Take a seat near the street-view window. Remember the plan?”

“Yeah…” you think you do. It’s difficult with the deafening pounding of your heart. What if he sees right through the plan? 

You were correct in assuming this would not be a normal stake-out. Natasha had “styled” you in the same dirty clothes you’d shown up at the tower in, attempting to make it look like you were still on the run. It wouldn’t be hard- even after a few weeks with SHIELD, you still look sickly compared to your former self, and your body quakes so violently with anxiety that you still look the part of the cult-escapee. If all goes according to plan and Fischer is really watching for you like Natasha claims, then you returning to the cafe should bait him out of hiding.

This would work, so long as Herrschaft is not yet aware of your affiliation with SHIELD. If they are, well…they could be two steps ahead of even Fury. And, if that’s the case… it could be back to that place for you.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” you whisper, your vision blurring with tears. “What if he knows and-”

“____” Natasha cuts into your ear, “You’re doing fine. Everything is going according to plan, alright?”

You nod, but remembering that she can’t see your response you add, “Yeah. Yeah okay.”

“Deep breaths,” Sam Wilson’s familiar voice speaks to you next and you can practically hear him smiling. This immediately soothes you and you follow his instructions, breathing deeply. 

Over your short stay in the tower, you’ve gotten to know Sam probably the best out of everyone. Every morning he and Bruce would help you with light physical therapy in an attempt to restore the muscle mass you lost during Herrschaft. It didn’t take long for him to pick up on the symptoms of PTSD you were experiencing, and he began to help with that as well. Friendship with Sam came naturally- he treated you like a normal person, not something to be tiptoed around. 

You smiled gently- yes, if Sam believed in you, then you could definitely handle this. 

“Okay, ____- We have Fischer in sight,” Steve’s voice cuts through your reverie. “He’s watching from across the street. Just follow the plan like we talked about, okay?”

Unlike Sam, if Steve could hold a flashing sign over your head that says _“Watch out: I’m emotionally unstable and can’t be trusted to do anything!”_ without damaging his good image, you’re sure he would have by now. Whether that’s just how he is with new recruits or if it’s just you, you weren’t sure. You suppose the two of you have some warming up to do. 

You take another desperate gulp of air before standing up, your legs wobbling enough to rock the table momentarily. Scraping the chair back, you make a quick exit out the door and head down the street. You immediately make for the alleyway beside the diner, feeling a slight rush of Déjà vu. 

Before long, another set of footsteps joins your own, sounding not too far down the sidewalk. Your heart jumps into your throat, but you have to continue on as if you don’t notice. You turn the corner sharply and walk to the end of the alley, turning around to face the man following you.

Fischer looks exactly like the photos you’d seen of him- short-cropped dark hair and beady black eyes, towering a foot over you easily- but there’s something chillingly familiar about the way he carries himself, and before you can stop it, memories fill your mind of the day you were taken

**Then**

Eric Fischer himself stands among the masked men in your apartment- they’d waited for you to come home from work that night. They had made a big show of ransacking your apartment, but you doubted they were looking for anything important. They just wanted to make you feel violated, wanted to watch your expression turned startled when you found your front door broken in. 

And oh how violated you felt. The single bedroom apartment- the only place you had grown to call home in over a decade- had been damaged beyond recognition. The floral paintings you’d spent hours on and framed proudly in your living room were shattered and torn on the ground. The cheap IKEA furniture that you’d assembled with an old friend from the orphanage lay broken. Your thumb barely punched a “91” into your phone before that too was ripped away from your hand and smashed against the linoleum floor. 

The next thing the intruders broke was your nose. You remember trying to turn tail back the way you’d come in, but they were so much quicker. You didn’t even see the fist flying at you until it connected with your face. The sheer force was almost enough to knock you unconscious. You went tumbling to the floor, blood erupting like a geyser from your face. In seconds there were hands everywhere- grabbing at your feet, hands, some holding zip-ties to keep you still. Your second instinct was to tap into your magick to fend them off, but it had been so long since you’d practiced your skills that it did little more than momentarily stun them. Their auras all swam together in your senses, all of them varying shades of crime. 

You remember Eric Fischer now, not because he broke your nose or because he tied you down, but because he simply stood by and watched. Like the sick ring-leader he is, he wore no mask during your abduction- perhaps to sear himself into your memory forever. He just watched and laughed all the while you screamed for help. 

**Now**

When the present slowly bleeds through the memory painting your eyelids, you’re acutely aware of a pair of hands tightening around your throat.

Your eyes focus in on Eric’s black ones, they gleam with a child-like giddiness as he presses his thumbs into your esophagus. The act isn’t meant to kill, but to incapacitate, that much is clear. He plans on taking you back with him. You won’t give him the satisfaction this time.

You grab his forearms hard, and this time your magick flows through you with ease. Your entire body burns with raw power and suddenly you don’t give a flying fuck about the mission or about dismantling Herrschaft. All that matters right now is you and this _son of a bitch who took everything from you-_

Sam calls your name from the end of the alley- Steve and Natasha following suit with guns trained on Fischer, but you don’t need their help. The man has long since released you and lays motionless on the ground. Slowly, the adrenaline fades and your mind comes back to focus. Your entire body slumps forward, you cough violently from the lack of oxygen only moments before, tears spilling over your cheeks. 

Oh, god what have you done? You very well could have killed this man, one that your team was relying on you to bring back for questioning. 

Natasha bends over to check his pulse, sending you an affirmative nod. You croak out a sigh of relief, letting yourself slide onto the concrete ground. Steve shoots you a slight glare, looking like he can’t decide whether to be concerned or upset. 

“What happened?” he demands, hoisting fischer up over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. 

“He strangled me,” you snap back, feeling no desire to explain yourself to the Captain. Sam’s brow creases with worry and he bends down to inspect your neck.

“Christ…” he mumbles. He helps you to your feet then, and you start feeling very much like a child being fussed over by her mother. Mama-Sam turns to the other two next, opening his mouth to unleash a lecture, but is cut short by Natasha’s phone vibrating.

She answers swiftly, mouthing “Fury” to the group. “Agent Romanov speaking. … Yes, we have him. … Affirmative. Expect a full report in one hour.”

With that, she ends the call and leads the way back to the SHIELD issued van. “Come on, we’ve wasted enough time already.”

\------------------------------------

Loki is walking down to the Tower’s library late that night when he sees you again. This surprises him not only because it’s well past the witching hour of the night (pun intended), but because he’s never seen you outside your suite. In his mind he’d begun associating you with the damsels of Midguard folklore, locked away in towers guarded by dragons, so much so that he’d forgotten that you were human just like the other Avengers. 

However, the sight before him shatters the image of a prim and proper princess thoroughly. You’re dressed in filthy, blood-stained clothes, curled up on a sofa with your head on your arms. You fringe frames your ashen face, tear-streaks cutting through the grime there. To top it all off, your neck resembles a plum in color, fingerprints shaped into the bruises in black. 

The only thing he can think to say as he approaches is, “What trouble did the little witch get herself into this time?”

He immediately wants to take it back with the way you cringe at the nickname. His chest tightens and he tries to right it. “Er- what I meant- I was trying to ask what happened,” he blurts. His cheeks heat with embarrassment and he blames his clumsiness on the shock of seeing you so defeated. 

“Stake-out went a little awry,” You whisper, surprising yourself with your willingness to open up to him. Not too long ago, you didn’t want anything to do with the mysterious avenger who mocked you during your episode, so you figured you must be pretty damn desperate for company that you’d take just about anyone at the moment.

Loki’s expression contorts into one of disgust. “I warned the director of following through with that stupid plan. Should have known he wouldn't take my word for it.”

Now this has you interested. You sit up and look at him fully. “ _You_ thought the plan was a bad idea? You, of all people?”

He looks at you offended for a moment before remembering how he treated you earlier. Yes, he probably deserved that comment then. You’re staring at him now as if you might be thinking he _cares_ for you or something ridiculous like that, so he must quickly right himself. “It’s not as if your safety was really on the line- the whole plan was just weak from the start. It lacked proper strategy.”

Your lips curl into a smirk- you can sense the lie in his statement, but you decide against pointing it out. “Oh really? And you know everything about strategy, don’t you?”

He pouts at this. “Well, yes, I do. Don’t you know who I am, witch? I fought alongside my brother and father in numerous wars in Asgard. That idiot Fury just doesn’t see my potential, that’s all.”

He crosses his arms and huffs, reminding you of a child attempting desperately to prove himself capable of anything. You can’t help the sudden urge to read him, so you reach out and touch his arm gently. His aura bleeds into you, the color of a lush forest and smelling of one too. The trees of his forest ache in sorrow. You suddenly feel very sad and jerk your hand away, rubbing it as if you’d been burned. He stares at you bewildered but you ignore it. 

“They don’t listen to you do they?” You don’t just mean the other Avengers, but Loki hears it that way anyway.

He shrugs. “Maybe not, but I may have tried to kill them and take over their planet, so…” there’s a hint of amusement in his voice, but his aura remains woeful. 

He turns and watches as your eyes widen, slowly processing what he’s said. He’s never met a human who hasn’t reacted to him with contempt or malice- let alone someone who hadn’t even _heard_ of the things he’d done. 

So he pours his story out to you, leaving out nothing. He even describes the pain he felt over his father’s revelation of his true purpose as his son, despite the fact that he hadn’t divulged that information to anyone before. He wants to blame the way his tongue so easily spills secrets to you on his lack of sleep, but he knows there’s something more to it. When you touched his arm moments ago, he felt as if your souls had been connected if only for a moment. In a way, it felt like you could already see every vulnerable piece of him, so telling you his emotions came easily. It felt like you could truly understand him- something he’d never experienced before. 

When he finishes, he turns back to look at you and jolts when he sees fat tears rolling down your cheeks, following the same stripes that were already there. He wants to reach out and wipe them away but thinks better of it, opting instead to ask if he offended you.

You shake your head quickly, not sure how to explain to him that you felt the most intense sadness in his soul as he recounted his story. You knew any sane person would feel nothing but hatred for what he did years ago, but you can feel the pain he harbors deep down. If anyone can empathize with how you feel now, it would be him. So, you spill out your own story, watching as his face morphs into mild horror- then anger- as you recall the torture you endured in Herrschaft. You even tell him about the voices, how your situation got to be so absolutely fucked that you began fantasizing of being back at the orphanage you grew up in because getting kicked around by others kids seemed like heaven compared to that place. You started to hear Andrew- your main bully- teasing you as you were beaten bloody. You clung to him- used him to keep you sane through everything. You knew it was messed up, and that it probably sounded even more messed up to a complete stranger, but you needed to tell somebody. 

Your lips were moving on their own accord now, though your voice had become raw from crying. He reached out to touch your arm like you had done for him earlier, his expression telling you you didn’t need to go any farther. You hushed, suddenly aware that you had been talking his ear off for hours now. There was something in his eyes now, burning dangerously with rekindled anger. You could smell his craving for revenge rolling off of his soul in waves. 

“I don’t care what the Avenger do, I’ll tear apart this “Herrschaft” with my own two hands if I must.” He levels you with a glare that chills your bones in its intensity. “They won’t hurt you anymore.”

He isn’t sure exactly why he says this- but something about the way you trust him with your secrets sparks something in him. For once, he isn’t concerned with how helping you may benefit him- he just genuinely wants to destroy the people who caused you pain. 

And destroy them he will.


	7. That's Gotta Sting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter contains more depictions of the cult and some violence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took forever :-(

**Then**

On a cold May morning such as this, the stone walls of the Herrschaft base feel frozen to the touch, turning the long corridors into an ice chest. A man walking these hallways tightens his furs with a frown, making a mental note to provide the mutant creatures with an extra sheet. To have them keel over with hypothermia would defeat the mission of their group. 

He passes several cells on his journey, a sense of pride welling up in his chest when he sees his prized mutants fast asleep huddled on floors. He had founded this organization a little over a year before and the results couldn’t be better. 

He had worked with human experimentation before- he worked with scientists in the organization Hydra in his youth, and while he was once very fascinated with their work, found their operations repulsive over time. He watched humans desperately fighting to become like gods, mutating themselves to achieve immortality or impossible strengths, and it sickened him. How grotesque it must have seemed to real gods- humans killing each other for something they could never succeed at. 

He turned sharply at the corner, his boots clicking over the stone floor. Before long, he stopped at a pair of wooden double doors, ornately decorated in iron and carved with intricate patterns, leading to the _Kirche_ area of the building.

The room mirrored your standard chapel, black pews lining the room where Herrschaft members could worship during off-hours. He followed the divide down the aisle lined with gold carpet, leading straight to an altar where ceremonies were to take place. The piece is beautifully crafted, cut straight from a slab of marble without any seams. The same curved designs and words appearing on the altar as they had on the door, traces of dried blood caking every curve and dip. He can’t help a blissful smile from spreading on his face as he begins his preparations. 

Every month, a sacred ceremony is performed in honor of the gods that his fellow men had tried so hard to emulate. And tonight’s sacrifice is quite special- a true goddess to please the heavenly figures above. He almost laughs with giddiness.

Years ago, he left Hydra for their crude experiments and since worked to build his own following of his beliefs. So far, many have joined his cause in worshipping these deities who walk the earth. With the sudden resurgence of mutants in the Americas, his group had relocated to the states in hopes of tracking them down. Their real shining achievement had been a leak of information from SHIELD’s database last year, allowing them access to nearly every mutant file across the world. Since then, they’ve captured and sacrificed dozens, but it still didn’t feel like enough to excuse mankind’s disgusting behavior over the last century. They needed more- they needed to move faster. 

The man looks up from his preparations when the Kirche is opened again, a group of men in black robes dragging the sacrifice. She stays limp as her arms and feet are dragged along, staring blankly at the ceiling with an ashen expression. A man stands among them in a gold robe, signifying his higher rank.

“Doctor Fischer,” the man greets jovially, approaching him to clap him on the back in good spirit.

“Führer Hoffman,” he nods in respect. “Everything coming along?”

Hoffman nods almost viscously, causing his double chins to shake in excitement. “Yes, I feel this will be our best ceremony yet. We celebrate with a true goddess among men today.”

Fischer smiles through thin lips, his contempt barely concealed. “For a goddess, the little mädchen bites hard.” 

Hoffman’s mood shifts and he casts him a dark stare. “Do not speak of the sacrifice with such disrespect or I will have your tongue removed.”

Fischer’s smile turns to a grimace, his cheeks bleaching. “Yes, director.”

The man’s gleeful smile returns at once. “Well now, inform the others that the ritual will begin at midnight exactly. They know what will happen if they are late, I assume.”

“Yes,” he answers again, suppressing another frown as he turns on his heel to relay the message to his fellow members.

Meanwhile, the black robes continue to drag the sacrifice, effectively smacking her head into the steps leading up to the altar. She doesn’t even flinch. With little resistance, they pull her onto the altar, her legs and hair dangling over the edges of the platform. Hoffman watches with an animalistic gaze, shooing away the cult members as soon as they’ve finished.

He approaches the woman carefully, circling her like an easily-startled deer. He raises a hand to hold one of the impossibly long braids and runs his gloved hand over the frayed and damaged locks. The rest of her resembles her tortured hair; her skin is a collage of black and blue, her limbs terribly skinny and brittle enough to snap. She watches him touch her hair, finally revealing any emotion through the tears that pool under her eyes. 

“Your tears please the gods, child,” the director smiles genuinely down at her. Her face twists up in anger at this, something inside of her finally snapping.

“Fuck your fake gods,” she struggles to raise her voice above a whisper. “And get your filthy hands out of my hair.”

The man frowns, taken back by this. By this point, the sacrifices have been trained and broken enough to keep quiet, but the nerve of this one! Calling the gods above fake? Hoffman strikes her hard, the slap echoing through the chapel. She hardly reacts, the bitter look on her face only deepening. 

“Watch your tongue, _Fräulein_. Do not make this harder than it needs to be.”

With her head still turned, she closes her eyes, tears falling across the bridge of her nose. “I’m going to die.”

It’s more a statement than a question- deep inside she knew the fate of the mutants she watched taken from their cells and dragged away to never return- but she’d never let the weight of it truly sink in. To do so would give up any hope of escaping. However, now it seemed there was no way out. She would die here, tortured, broken, and surrounded by villains. By the hands of a man who thinks himself to be a god, no less.

“Do not be sad,” Hoffman sighs through his nose, becoming frustrated that none of the sacrifices seemed to understand how _important_ this is. “Your body is an offering to a higher power. We will please them with your screams, and in doing so, cleanse mankind of his sins.” He leans in closer, his breath hot on the shell of her ear. “Besides… you will make the _loveliest_ offering, Fräulein…”

She can’t stand him so close to her and she shoves him hard, catching him by surprise. She sits up to face him, a snarl on her lips. He watches her darkly, ducking forward fast to grab her by the waist. Not a second too late, she rolls out of the way and stumbles to the stone floor. She’s on her feet again in seconds, ignoring the dizziness that threatens to knock her off her feet. Something has shifted in her eyes- that much he can tell. She suddenly goes from a sad sack of skin and bone to a warrior, effectively paralyzing him in fear. Her baggy shirt flutters, a change in the air blowing out the candles in the room. 

The man squeaks involuntarily, his heart pounding so hard he can hear it. Without warning, something pierces his stomach, so intense and painful he knows he must have been shot- though no sound of a gun had been heard. He cries out for help once before losing consciousness. 

**Now**

Loki sits beside his brother and Steve Rogers, his hands idly twined in his lap to keep himself from gripping the edges of the bench. He leans back with a calm expression, though his stomach lurches and his blood boils as he watches Agent Romanov land a blow to your gut. You double over tremendously, breath failing you for a few minutes.

“Again!” she cries, urging you back onto your feet. 

The two of you have been sparring like this for almost an hour and he doesn’t think he can watch it any longer. Well- it would be sparring if you would actually fight back. As of now, you’re simply dodging blows and taking her attacks with no resistance. Your nose and mouth are covered in blood and bruises are forming all over your body. Loki knows how strong you are- can sense your magick a mile away- so why in Hel’s name won’t you fight back?

Natasha sweeps your legs out from under you, knocking you down hard. The crack your head makes in contact with the floor is enough to make the men beside him flinch. 

“Enough!” Loki shouts, on his feet in instantly. He strides to your side, ignoring the bizarre looks from his teammates at his random outburst. Instead of helping you up, he seethes, “Are you just going to stand there and be beaten to death? Do you expect to destroy Herrschaft that way? Because I can guarantee that those soldiers will not pull their punches like Romanov here-” he points to Natasha accusatory and she sighs through her nose, seeming embarrassed for being called out. 

You stare at him wide-eyed, completely at a loss for words. For a moment he thinks he sees a trace of tears in your eyes and he wants to bend down to help you up and tell you he’s sorry for being so cold, but then the determination is back before he has the chance and your face scrunches up in anger. You rise to your feet and wipe your nose with the back of your hand, leaving an ugly red smear across your cheek. He almost chokes at how quickly you change from looking so fragile to looking like a member of the Valkyrie. He swallows thickly at the sight.

He moves over to take Natasha’s place, directing her back to watch at the bench. She looks unhappy but obeys him, slotting herself between Thor and Steve with her arms crossed. He looks back at your dark glare and wants to reconsider what he’s about to say, but he’s already made a big show of challenging you- he must face the consequences. 

“Defeat me. Using any means necessary.” The implication is clear, _put your abilities to use for once._

You nod in understanding, letting the forces inside of you take over. It terrifies you allowing your powers to guide the fight, but you trust Loki not to let himself be killed by you. Your fingertips throb with energy as magick grips your body, allowing it to steady your racing heart.

Loki watches with both fear and fascination as you close your eyes and breathe deeply, seeming to draw the very forces of the Earth into you. When you finally open your eyes they no longer look like your own- they’re devoid of light and soul, making you appear to literally be possessed by your own magick. You take a step towards him and the lights above flicker in and out. The temperature in the room drops significantly. Without warning, something grabs him, wrestling him to the floor and knocking the wind out of him. 

He grunts in shock and opens his eyes, expecting to see you pinning him down, but there is nothing. Some invisible force digs its claws into his shoulders, keeping him held in place. He moves his hand to swipe at it, but only makes contact with the air above him. The claws circle around his throat and he wheezes, only now noticing you watching from the same spot with an expressionless face. How are you doing this? It doesn’t feel like telepathy and no matter how hard he struggles, the iron grip around his throat only seems to tighten.

“____, stop-” he manages to croak out, his eyes beginning to bulge and his face an ugly shade of maroon. You only watch him with that same blank look, and he realizes that you don’t even recognize him in this state. Perhaps riling you up was not the wisest, he scoffs as his vision begins to fade. 

Just as he began slipping out of consciousness, he feels the pressure on him suddenly vanish. His lungs draw air so greedily that he sputters and coughs, doubling over on his side to better breathe. He glances up with red-tinted vision and sees Thor facing you, holding your arms down at your sides as you blubber and wail like a child.

“M’so sorry Loki!” You draw his name out into a sob, hanging your head. His brow knits in confusion and he slowly sits up, his breathing still ragged. You turn to look at him with tears falling down your cheeks, cutting trails through the dried blood, your body language back to normal. “I didn’t mean to- I didn’t mean-”

“Relax, fair lady, he’s alright now, see? Isn’t that right Loki?” He eyes him carefully, not entirely convinced that his brother is alright at all. From where he’d been watching, Loki looked like death by the time he’d snapped ____ out of her attack. 

“Yes…” he wheezes, quickly clearing his throat. “Yes, I’ll be fine. You just caught me off guard.”

As he watches you cry against Thor’s chest, your entire body seeming smaller and more fragile, it occurs to him, and perhaps to the others as well, that they will not need to train you to fight, but rather, to control your strength before you really do kill a man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kirche- church; place of worship  
> Führer- leader  
> Mädchen- young girl  
> Fräulein- “woman,” typically used in a derogatory or sexist way
> 
>  
> 
> _get ready for a training montage that would make Rocky Balboa proud_


	8. L8er Sk8ter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Big chapter head... lots o stuff... No warnings apply really just be warned that there is a lot of exposition ahead. not my best chapter but I needed to get the plot rolling again so forgive me.

**Now**

A steaming shower feels fantastic against your sweaty skin, the brief memories of another nightmare falling away with the gentle beat of the water. The showers of Stark Tower were quickly becoming your favorite place as the hot water seemed to never end and the shampoo always smelled of cinnamon. You smile softly, closing your eyes and allowing your thoughts the drown you.

Today is another training day. After yesterday’s events with Loki, you feel nauseous just thinking of the day ahead, but you promised to give it your best shot to get into shape to help the team. You didn’t have the heart to explain that you could easily kill anyone on the team with your unique abilities, but it seemed that they all knew your secret now. 

The image of Loki’s face, purple and gasping for air, enters your mind and you need to focus on breathing to quell the urge to vomit. What if it happens again, but with someone more mortal than him? You don’t even quite recall how it happened- you only remember being pissed off at him for lecturing you and then things get fuzzy. This wouldn’t be the first time you’d accidentally let your powers take over like that, but it didn’t usually happen after something so trivial. 

You shudder, thinking back to Eric Fischer in the alleyway. Yes- it seems you have much less control than before. It terrifies you just thinking about it. Someone could probably step on your toe and you’d snap their neck in seconds. Since when were you such a hot-head?

Memories of the orphanage come next. Back then, even being bullied profusely, you’d managed to keep your secret under wraps. Well, perhaps not completely. 

You shake your head roughly, hoping to dislodge that train of thought before it can begin. No, the accident with Andrew was _not_ your fault. No matter how many times you tell yourself that, though, it does little to stop the guilt that consumes you at night. 

A series of beeps from your phone rips you from your thoughts and makes you flinch so hard you almost slip. You shut off the water and dry your hands before turning off the alarm. One hour. The water heaters in the tower really must run off of magick. 

You finish drying and wrap your long braids up into the towel, creating a wet weight on your head. You make something of a game of balancing it there while you dig around for some clothes to train in. You find a cozy t-shirt and shorts that you’d kept with you while on the run. It makes you smile putting them on, feeling more at home in your old clothes. The nostalgia reminds you of Tony’s promise to help move the rest of your things here later this week. The small apartment you’d been granted in the tower was beginning to feel more like your old place and less like a prison, slowly making it easier to sleep each night.

“____? Are you in here?” a voice drifts in from the living room. Oddly, you hadn’t heard the door open- normally you’d start panicking at the thought of an intruder, but the voice is familiar and calms you.

“Loki? You should have knocked,” you sigh and hop out to the living room while tying one of your shoelaces.

He shrugs and looks away, trying to think of a snarky response but comes back short with a simple apology. You lift your gaze to meet his and a wave of relief washes over you when you see his neck clean of any bruising. Without a second thought, you approach him and run your fingers over his neck in awe. His aura seems to spark under your fingertips, pulsing wildly. Realizing he probably doesn’t want you anywhere near him after yesterday, you quickly withdraw.

“Oh, god- I’m so sorry… Are you alright?” You stare down at your feet, missing the way his face reddens from the contact.

He clears his throat. “Hm? Oh me? I’m fine. You just caught me off guard remember? You won’t beat me so easily the next time.”

You meet his cocky smile with one of your own, relieved by his playfulness. “Well then, what’re we waiting for?”

\-------------------------------------

The grey, human form stands several feet away, its blank face making you uneasy. Its body is propped up by a pole, its arms and legs hanging uselessly. A target is painted on its stomach and head, each of them riddled with bullet holes. 

“You want me… to attack that?” you ask Loki, the group of Avengers from yesterday standing by to watch, with the addition of Clint Barton. The growing audience does little to help your confidence.

“Yes. Just like you did with me yesterday, only demonstrate on this dummy. You don’t need to hold back at all, just show us what you can do,” he explains for the second time now, growing impatient in his tone. 

You look back at the ballistic dummy and frown, trying but failing to strike it. “I can’t.”

He sighs and rubs his temple. “Why not?”

You gnaw at your lower lip, feeling every pair of eyes on you as you carefully choose each word. “My powers… my powers only work on things with souls. It is not telekinetic… it’s more… er, organic?”

Even with your poor explanation, Loki seems to understand somewhat and you can practically see the gears turning in his head. “Psychic abilities?” 

You nod hesitantly, never having called them that before. “Yes, I guess you could say that.” A glance back at your training party and you see a general consensus of confusion. You sigh. So much for keeping your abilities in the dark- it seems you’d have no choice but to explain yourself. “How do I say this…? You know what the astral plane is, right?” the question is pointed at Loki, but more to benefit the room. “The way that my mind works, I can see both the physical and the spiritual- or, astral- plane at once. When I am near an individual, I can see and feel their soul just like I would their physical body.”

Natasha and Clint seem to understand slightly, awaiting your next words patiently. Thor and Steve, however, both take on an even more confused expression. Thor interjects, “But then how do you attack enemies without coming in contact with them?”

Loki scoffs under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear. He seems to show even less patience with his brother than with you, if that’s possible. “Like she just said, if you’d been paying attention, she attacks through the astral plane. To everyone else it _appears_ as though she isn’t moving because we can only see her physical body.”

You stare at the man with wide eyes, surprised he’d manage to summarize your powers even better than you had. “Well, er- yeah. Exactly that. My advantage is that my enemies cannot see me coming. However, when it comes to senselessly beating inanimate objects…” you gesture to the dummy, “I’m actually quite useless.”

Natasha cuts in next, “How exactly are we supposed to train you if we can’t see you coming, then?”

Before you can reply, Loki steps in, “Worry not, Widow. That will be my job. Unlike the rest of you, I’ve got a couple of magick tricks of my own.” He winks at Natasha and you almost laugh despite yourself. 

She casts him a glare, looking between her teammates for their approval. Only a few months ago, Loki had still been viewed with distrust, kept on a short leash by Thor and an even shorter one by Fury, so even a simple thing like this made her uneasy. Normally, combat training was her business, but he had a point. Your powers delivered them a special circumstance and required special training. Clint nodded to her, seeming to follow her thought pattern exactly. She looked back to the Silvertongue and sighed.

“Alright. But you know what will happen if you try anything, right?” Her voice is low enough to be a growl, but you catch it anyway. It makes you frown, reminded once again that Loki is treated with even more caution than yourself, and you’ve only been here a month. He nods with a tight-lipped smile, keeping his sharp retorts inside. 

The raven-haired man leads you back to the ring where you fought last night. You notice with chagrin that the mats are still dirty with your blood before taking your position across from him. Your audience finds the benches once more to watch.

“Go on then, attack me,” Loki states calmly, surprisingly fearless after his previous defeat. It makes you more nervous, worried he’ll be caught off guard again and unable to fight back.

You blink slowly and it’s as if a filter has been lifted off the world- or you’re looking through a new lens. His aura stands taller than he, pompous, muscular, and green. You bite back a smirk; of course his spirit would be so big and tough-looking as Loki likely views himself that way. You use your astral form to dart forward, striking him square in the gut. His soul quivers, but doesn’t collapse like you expect it to.

“Come on, you can hit harder than that!” his voice sounds far away, like you’re hearing him underwater. 

You huff, trying to sweep his legs out from under him but his hulking aura moves away with ease. “I can’t,” you grind out, growing more frustrated with each failed attempt. He certainly is more prepared this fight. You can’t land a single blow anymore!

“You’re hesitating, I can feel it. Where’s all the warrior bravado from yesterday?” 

Warrior? That was no warrior, that was a murderer, you growl internally. Whatever savage version of yourself that takes over in moments of anger is the one that will kill your friends without flinching. You won’t let that happen.

Without warning, his own spirit lashes out and punches you hard in the side, sending you colliding into your physical body again. You double over and wheeze for air, grabbing the bruising part of yourself. You’re on your feet again in seconds, seeing his soul looming over yours as soon as you switch back into the spiritual plane. You narrowly dodge a kick to your side, stumbling backwards. He’s getting faster in his movements, more confident. You’ve never before met someone who could match your unique skills and it begins to scare you. 

You breathe deeply and focus, shedding your hesitation from before. You tune out everything around you and grant Loki’s form your undivided attention, magick beginning to pulse through you. The next time he comes at you, you glide out of the way gracefully and swing your leg hard into his knees. He crumples momentarily, shocked by your sudden change. He doesn’t stay down long, clumsily aiming a fist for your nose. You catch the hand midair and with a strength that even surprises yourself you twist him to the ground. Quite literally jumping at the opportunity, you pin him down with your knees in his shoulder blades. 

When you blink again, you’ve returned to your physical body, panting and sweating from the exertion. Loki lies a few feet away in a similar state, a trickle of blood down his chin from his nose. You stumble to your feet and approach him to help him up.

“That was impressive,” you tell him genuinely while pulling him to his feet. “I’ve never met someone to match me like that.”

He shrugs and smirked, his teeth smeared pink. “Like I said, I know a few tricks.”

When you glance back at your team members and see shared expressions of bewilderment, you can’t help barking out a laugh. It’s loud and short, but still feels amazing after going so long without even smiling much. Loki grins at you and takes your hand to pull your attention back to him. 

“Let’s try again, I won’t pull my punches this time.”

\------------------------------------------

A week later you’re still training with Loki every morning. You think it really is helping- he’s stronger than you took him for and his constant teasing helps you learn to control your powers. Sometimes you imagine that they have a mind of their own- whenever he insults you or knocks you down you can feel your magick screaming to unleash, to teach this cocky know-it-all a lesson about how to treat girls. Each time you push the urges away, slowly but surely gaining control to the point where the screaming only consists of angry hisses. 

Between combat sessions, the god of mischief drags you to his quarters to show you knew tricks or to lend you books about magick. Towards the end of the week, you’d begun spending so much of you free time with him that you hardly had time alone to shower or sleep. However, even though the regimen was exhausting… you admittedly enjoyed every second of it. Loki was quickly becoming your closest friend and there were days where you almost didn’t have to think about your past. One night, while snoozing beside him on the library couch, you even experienced normal dreams again. 

You knew the relationship the two of you had built was bizarre, but you feared dwelling on it would somehow make it disappear, so you opted not to question it. If at any point your mind began drifting to his reasons for being your friend when he clearly disliked everyone in the tower, you simply shook the thought away and stuck your nose in another book. Overanalyzing things would just worry you. 

Besides, it was hard to worry about your friendship with the prince when something else was occupying your mind: Eric Fischer has refused to speak since being brought in. Natasha Romanov, who usually oversees your combat sessions, has been absent more and more trying to further the investigation. You don’t need anyone telling you what kind of methods she uses in interrogation- the empty expression on her face and the twitching of her fingers at the end of the day are proof enough that they aren’t pleasant. So why won’t he talk? The situation wouldn’t worry you quite as much if not for the growing distress from both Fury and Romanov. You know that if the two of them are becoming restless with the case then something’s up. You just don’t know what yet.

You sigh, looking back at the book in your hands. You haven’t been able to focus all day with the lack of new information, so you give up and close the thick novel. Your eyes are strained from reading anyway. You sink back into the sofa, rolling your head to the side to stare at Loki. He stays focused on the book in his hands, his lower lip between his teeth as he reads. You stare at the hook of his nose and the curve of his jaw, your expression quickly mimicking his with your lip snagged between your teeth. The second he glances back at you, you quickly look away, your cheeks turning red. Why the hell were you staring at him like that? You really must be exhausted.

“Find something more interesting than your studies?” he questions with a wide smirk, closing his own book. The cover is written in a language you’ve never seen before and the leather looks old enough to belong in a museum. 

You scoff and laugh a little too loudly at his remark, overcompensating for your embarrassment. “At this point anything could be more interesting than this. I think my brain is going to fry if I read another word.”

He rolls his eyes, smiling handsomely. “Oh please. You just aren’t used to such intellectually stimulating literature, I’m sure.”

“Oh shut up!” You grin and smack his arm. He titters at your action, his smile widening. 

After a beat of silence, “Well what do you propose we do instead?”

You sigh through your nose and shrug, stretching back on the couch. With your eyes cast to the ceiling you miss the way his eyes linger on the arch of your torso, biting hard on his tongue. Suddenly, his pale hand takes hold of one of your braids, running it through his fingers, a soft look in his eyes. The action jars you slightly and you stare at him wide-eyed, your heart beating erratically. It’s been doing that often lately- your heart. Every time he sits close to you or brushes his fingers over yours, you feel like your chest will explode. It’s almost unpleasant. Almost.

The air between you feels thick enough to slice as he leans in closer, watching you intently as he tucks the braids behind you. He smiles in a dazed sort of way, coming close enough to share your breath. You start to feel dizzy with the sensation, acutely aware that you want him to kiss you and quickly. Wherever that idea came from, you’ve no clue, but you don’t care anymore. Right now the world consists of yourself, Loki, and the way his lips brush gently to yours, testing your reaction.

_So why isn’t he dead for touching your hair, freak?_

The voice- Andrew’s voice- is back so suddenly you actually jerk in your seat, pulling away from Loki sharply. It’s been a month now without him, and now he chooses to infiltrate your thoughts?

His words ring in your ears for a few seconds and guilt hits you like a truck. You know you’ll never really be free of him. No matter how hard you try to run from your past, it’ll still haunt you. It was stupid to even think you could have a second chance at happiness. You didn’t deserve that.

You hadn’t realized you were crying until Loki’s thumb swipes tears off of your cheeks, his face fallen from what he believes to be your rejection of his advances. “Did I hurt you?” he asks, his tone shy despite himself. 

You shake your head hard, tears falling loose in the process. “ _No_ … I just… I don’t think I can-”

His face crumbles, his entire posture slumping. “Well why not? What did I do?” He forces anger into his tone to cover his disappointment. 

You flinch slightly, hanging your head. It occurs to you that this is what you’ve wanted this whole time. Loki makes you feel safe and wanted- it’s just… you can’t help thinking that he deserves better than yourself. 

“Nothing,” you say simply, your voice breaking as a fresh wave of emotion hits you. The next words come out barely a whisper, strangling you further, _“I don’t want...you.”_

Now he really does look angry. His eyes narrow and he lets his hands fall from your face, clenching them into fists. “ _You_ don’t want _me_? After everything I’ve done for you? Has this all just been for nothing? Or was I simply a convenient outlet for your emotional needs?”

The words sting you like knives, making your blood run cold. He notices the way the color drains from your face and he immediately wants to take it back, but he will not. His pride is on the line, and there’s little else he holds above his pride. 

Despite the way your body shrinks away from him, your voice comes out surprisingly confrontational. “And what am I to you exactly? An outlet for your revenge?” 

His eyes widen a fraction and his anger lessens. You continue in his silence, “You can’t hide your emotions from me, remember? I know you only care about Herrschaft because it gives some kind of purpose to your anger.” As the words tumble out of you, it feels like a slap in the face even to yourself. Deep down you’d known this all along, but you’d always refused to think about it. 

Before you can shove your foot farther into your mouth, Loki cuts you off. “I know I have my own issues, but I thought that you of all people could see past that. It looks like I was wrong.”

That knocks the breath from your lungs. “What? Loki-”

“Save it,” he growls, standing up from the couch. “And don’t bother training with me tomorrow, I wouldn’t want to take advantage of you.”

An exasperated sob shakes you as you watch him storm out of the library, the door shuddering behind him and knocking a book down from a shelf with how forcefully he shuts it.


	9. Throw Back To That Time When You Killed A Kid

**Then**

The chiming of metal bells signified a customer entering the store, and you eagerly jumped from your place at the counter to greet them. Your simple dress and apron were smeared with varying colorful powders from helping your grandmother bottle potions all afternoon, but you managed to charm each of the customers regardless. This time it was an elderly man searching for one of your store’s unique tarot card decks. You directed him to the cards before returning to your chore of cleaning the front counter.

This had been your life for as long as you could remember- working alongside your grandmother to maintain a small, family-owned metaphysical shop- and you loved every second of it. After closing the shop each evening, the two of you would read stories on the sofa upstairs, or share ghost stories over tea. Some nights, grandmother would teach you magick tricks and tell you about the spirit world- all of which you scribbled furiously in a coloring book, eagerly soaking in the information faster than you could get it. 

One night, after a particularly lengthy study session, the elderly woman pulled you close by her side so you could help with dinner preparations. She turned to face you as she stirred a pot with one hand, the other coming to rest on your head. _Child,_ she called you in a hushed tone. Her face turned stone and her movements just as rigid. _I must tell you something very important._

Your eyes bulged as you watched her, you’d never seen her so serious. The woman always had a smile on her face, even through troubling times. For a moment your eight-year-old mind flew to all the times when you’d broken something in the shop and tried to hide the evidence of your crimes- convinced that your retribution had finally come- but then she spoke again, bringing you back to the present.

She carefully explained that a girl as old as yourself is mature enough now to understand how dangerous magick can really be. You knew this, of course- she reminded you often enough when learning new spells- but this was far more serious. Your particular set of skills could do more harm than good if used improperly. Your abilities could even end lives if you were to lose control. You could practically feel the blood drain from your face at that- murder being too heavy a subject for your young mind to comprehend. 

You were gifted from birth with the same abilities as grandmother, and thank god for that. Being a mutant herself, she knew just about every trick in the book on caring for one. Over dinner, she told stories of the trouble her magick had gotten herself into at your tender age, and how she eventually came to control it. Next was bathtime, yet her lips didn’t cease for a minute as she dragged you to the tub and filled it with rose water, the stories spilling from her with a never ending vivacity. 

She aided you into the bath and pulled your wet mop of hair into her hands. She began working the curls into flat rows against your head, deftly braiding the strands down your back. She infused them with both magick and love, murmuring incantations to protect you and those around you. 

You wore those braids with pride, decorating them with quartz beads and seashells as you grew older. The charm continued to protect you, even after grandmother had passed on. However, you didn’t know the extent of the spell’s power until much, much later on.

\-----------------------------

It was a complete accident. The spell was designed by your grandmother to seal your powers to prevent you from hurting someone, only to do the exact opposite when you were fifteen years old. 

You remember it vividly- the way the orphanage creaked during a particularly bad thunderstorm that night. Storms never did bother you- you’d grown up learning to respect and admire nature. But this one- the way it shook the foundation of the building, the winds so fierce a tree branch had flown smack into your window more than once, and with the thunder sounding so loud and so close- had you sleeping cowered under a mass of blankets to drown out the sound. 

Andrew Miller was also restless from the noise, and left his room in search of something entertaining to distract his mind. He found your dorm room easily and let himself inside. Most of the children were huddled in the cafeteria across the campus to wait out the storm, leaving you alone in the rows of beds. You looked to be sleeping from what he could tell- every bit of you tucked away in blankets besides your obnoxiously long braids that revealed your identity. Something about the way a flash of lightning illuminated your hair suddenly put a brilliant idea into his head. 

He approached silently, retrieving the small hunting knife from his clothes that he almost always carried along with him. With a flick of his thumb, the blade clicked open. In a few more steps, he’d arrived at your bedside and took hold of one of the braids. 

The deafening crash of nearby lightning made you jolt awake. The first thing your mind registered was the sight of flames engulfing the tree a ways outside your window. The scene was terrifying, but not enough to distract you from the odd weight to your hair. When you tore your eyes away from the tree to examine the braid in question, you found a knife jutting out of the hair. Completely confused, you extracted the blade and watched in awe as the hair appeared to restitch itself before your eyes.

The next thing you registered was the body. 

Andrew lay on the floor beside you, his face drained of color and his eyes like glass, staring unblinking at the ceiling. There was still a hint of a smirk stuck on his lips, his limbs curled in around him as if he were trying to protect himself from an unseen force in his dying moments.

Another clap of thunder drowned out your screams.

\---------------------------------

**Now**

Two weeks had passed since your dispute in the library, and Loki still hadn’t heard hide nor hair of you. After only a few days, he’d already become anxious trying to find you in the tower (while simultaneously planning how to make it seem like a completely casual coincidence that he found you when he does find you, because Loki Lafueyson does _not_ search for annoying earthly girls out of worry), but after finding out that you’ve been out on training missions with his team members to avoid him, he suddenly feels much less concerned. Maybe even a little angry.

Okay, maybe a lot angry.

How could you say those things to him and then just act as if he doesn’t exist? Did the time you’d spent together mean anything? You were the only person he’d ever met on Earth that he could even begin to consider a friend. The way you listened and cared for him like you’d known him for years- the way you always seemed to effortlessly catch his attention- perhaps it had been too good to be true. 

He really hadn’t intended to make advances towards you. He can’t remember where along the line his platonic feelings for you had blurred on romantic, but now it is all he _can_ think about. In the heat of the moment it just seemed like the right thing to do. 

Overanalyzing relationships really isn’t his style, either. Much like with material items, when Loki wants someone he only need ask. It had been easy enough back in Asgard with women and men alike darkening his door in hopes of achieving some royal status with the prince. Come to think of it… when was the last time he’d been rejected by someone? These feelings of anger and embarrassment felt very foreign to him. 

It may be for this reason that he treats you with cold indifference when you finally do return to him after the third week. You slide into the chair across from him in the library, giving him a shy half-smile. He barely glances up from his book, afraid that his resolve will crumble if he stares at you for too long. Embarrassment. Anger. Guilt. All of his bottled emotions swirl inside him then, threatening to choke him the second he opens his mouth. 

Thankfully, you speak first. “Loki, I wanted to apologize for what happened the other day.”

Other day? He looks up at you finally with a burning hatred in his eyes. Weeks. You’d ignored him for weeks without any kind of an apology, and now you’ll try and brush it off so casually?

He opens his mouth to fire back something to make you feel equally as hurt as he is, but promptly snaps his jaw closed. There would be no need to hurt you- he can already see the pain in your face. You look different than you had weeks ago- much less… alive, perhaps? He can’t quite put a finger on it, but you almost seem hollow in the way you smile at him. Whatever confidence you’d built since coming to SHIELD had been washed away and replaced with apathy. It hadn’t occurred to him that the fight had probably hurt you just as much as it had him. 

Finally, he says, “____, I consider you a dear friend to me.” Your face brightens ever-so-slightly, but he continues before you can set your hopes too high. “-But I refuse to be your crutch anymore. You need to figure out how to be strong by yourself before I can help you.”

And just like he had three weeks ago, he turns and leaves you alone in the library, only looking over his shoulder this time to offer you a thin smile.


	10. Uh-Oh Spaghetti-O

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> everything that could possibly go wrong... (you guessed it) goes wrong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for violence

**Now**

Natasha Romanov runs her fingers over the file, soaking in the information for about the hundredth time. The name of the cult is stamped in deep black at the top of the page, the edges of the letters obscuring the black and white photo of the doctor in question. 

Her mind begins to fog again as she reads and she quickly reaches for her mug, the coffee leaving a stain on the documents. It’s been another all-nighter, her third this week. Even she’s beginning to go crazy with this fruitless interrogation. How Eric Fischer has managed to stay so composed and silent is beyond her. 

After two weeks, he began feeding them fragments of information in code. A word every few hours- sometimes an entire sentence. Although the numbers and letters were gibberish, it filled the investigation team with hope. After hours of decoding and analyzing, they found that the information really was just that. Gibberish. She had been so angry she shattered the man’s wrist during the next session. 

Tonight will either make or break the investigation. Loki is due to the interrogation room in fifteen minutes, as his magic could potentially give them the information they’re hunting for. She certainly doesn’t trust him for the task, but the order came from higher up and she really has no authority to change that. Regardless of whether they can gather the information does not change the fact that Dr. Fischer will be sentenced to death row in a week’s time, so at least Natasha can take solace in that. She knows you’ll be happy with that news as well. Maybe you’ll be able to sleep a little better at night. 

The door across the room opens, Loki entering with an exhausted expression. He quietly joins the agent and together they make for Fischer’s place of confinement. Neither of them attempt at small talk, their disdain for each other only momentarily set aside for the case at hand. Polite exchanges would be an unnecessary penalty. 

Loki enters the isolation room first. The room is only the size of a closet and lined with steel and tiles. The door requires a password to enter, which he punches in swiftly. With a grunt, the door swings open. 

The prince turns back to Agent Romanov. “Is this the right room?” He raises an eyebrow at her and moves aside to reveal an empty chair, the wrist and ankle straps torn away. 

He’s never before seen pure fear on Natasha’s face before, but he does now. Though, as soon as it appeared it’s vanished, replaced with a cool collection. She turns and sets a brisk stride back into the main room, rambling orders into her com the entire way. “Fischer is gone. Check the footage of his cell and engage security protocol now. Don’t let anyone leave this tower until we find him.”

Loki follows behind her for a moment, marveling at how on Earth SHIELD could be so negligent of its prisoners. He almost finds the whole thing funny until it dawns on him.

Eric Fischer has escaped and the woman (the woman he himself is very much attached to) that he’s kidnapped once before is in this same tower. More than likely asleep and alone and defenseless. 

The color drains from his face and his lungs fail him for a few seconds, the entire world seems the fall into slow motion. Ignoring Natasha’s shouting, he takes off to the stairs to reach your room.

—————————————————————

**Then**

You weren’t sure what you were expecting, apologizing to Loki.

You knew you’d hurt him, but the man seemed to bounce back from much worse, you didn’t think a rejection from you of all people would make him so angry. When you’d finally worked up the nerve to confront the situation (and yes, you realize you shouldn’t have waited so long to try and make amends, but you’re allowed to be upset too!), his aura felt cold and sorrowful, exactly as it had been when you first met him. The progress you’d been making with him had been ruined in the space of a few weeks. 

And there was something else… The way he’d told you to learn to be strong had rubbed you the wrong way. The most prideful man you’ve ever met in your life telling _you_ to be strong? You’ve been through plenty and it’s made you stronger than someone like Loki could even understand, thank you very much! 

But, deep down (shoved under all the anger and guilt and everything in between), you admit that he has a point. Ever since you’ve met him, you’ve used him as a crutch for support. You can’t help it- he makes you feel comfortable. And he makes you laugh. And maybe he kind of makes you think of Andrew. You aren’t sure which broken piece of yourself he fills for you, but it isn’t exactly a healthy friendship- let alone something more. 

You groan and sink down further into the bath water. You’ve never had close friends before being taken in by SHIELD, so you really aren’t sure how to make it up to him. The only person you’ve confided your predicament in is Sam, and as expected he gave you a long lecture about trusting the prince in which you were only half-listening. The other Avengers likely would never understand your relationship with him.

With a heavy sigh, you drain the tub and wrap up in a towel, goosebumps forming on your arms without the heated water to warm them. You take your time drying your skin and hair, the motions soothing to you. Your muscles ache like hell with the intensive combat training Natasha has been putting you through. 

Between interrogation sessions, it would seem her stress outlet is sparring. You’re really no match for the Black Widow, but you’re getting better every day. You have your own reasons for training so vigorously- it keeps the pain at bay for at least a few hours. While you’re taking punches your mind is far away from Loki or Herrschaft. 

You pull on a pair of sweats and a long sleeve shirt that keeps your wounds covered. Not long after dressing, there’s a knock at the door. Normally when someone comes to your suite to either chat or bring dinner, you’re mind immediately thinks of Loki. Thinks he’s here to apologize and hold you like you’ve wanted for the past weeks. You’re always slightly deflated when you see that it is in fact not the prince behind your door but someone else. 

This time, however, the knock is heavier- more like a pounding against your door, and you know that it couldn’t be the graceful silver tongue you know so well. That’s odd, you think and blink owlishly at the door. Should you answer it? It does sound pretty urgent…

After a minute of internal debate, the knocking comes again, even louder if possible. In fear that they might break down the door, you rush forward to open it. 

You’re greeted by a crowd of three people, dressed down in SWAT gear. The one closest to you, a man towering over you by a foot, pulls the safety latch on his gun and points it between your eyes. You can sense the panic attack rising in your throat, but it never fully hits you. You haven’t been training all this time for nothing- you can handle this. You think. 

With reflexes that would make Natasha proud, you disarm the man and deliver a hard blow to his knee, making him double over. The other two pounce at you immediately, and it’s then that you notice the security badges clipped to their uniforms with SHIELD’s official seal. Are these people agents? What the hell are they doing?

You only get a few jabs in before the butt of a gun cracks hard against your head. The female agent who hit you pushes you with her boot and you go down like a sack of potatoes, your vision spotting with black. The last thing you see is a fourth member walking into frame and smiling at you.

Your heart almost stops when you realize it’s none other than Eric Fischer. He looks worse for wear, but you’d recognize those beady eyes anywhere. You hiss and murmur curses at him until even your lips stop working. 

\--------------------------------

**Now**

Bruce Banner squints his eyes at the screen, trying for the tenth time to reload the video feed. He hangs his head and sighs before turning back to the group. “The file’s been corrupted. I can’t see any of the security footage from the past twenty-four hours.”

Tony, who had been pacing the room in deep thought, abruptly pushes past the doctor to try for himself. Not surprisingly, the video remains inaccessible. “I don’t understand. To even access that footage you need to get past several entry codes… Not only that, but the JARVIS system was also disabled for the last four hours. The only one who can do that is me or one of my assistants.” The room deflates collectively and goes silent for a minute. All of the Avengers- sans Clint and Natasha who are searching the building for Fischer- sit in deep thought. 

The door bursts open across the room, interrupting the tension. Loki runs into the room, breathing heavily and looking like he might be sick. The others only stare at him as they await whatever he will say next. No one has said anything about the prince during all of this, but a majority of them secretly suspect his involvement in Fischer’s escape. After all, it’s difficult to trust a god of lies, and this is happening just a few months after his acceptance to the team. 

“____ is missing,” he says after catching his breath. Each Avenger visibly tenses upon hearing this. “I’ve looked everywhere- I can’t find her.”

Tony pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to process everything that’s happening. He hadn’t even thought to check for you- normally JARVIS would alert any breach to your security as part of the witness protection program, and he’s once again reminded that his systems have all been deactivated. “Shit,” he breathes. “Shit, shit, shit!”

Sam Wilson narrows his eyes at the prince and stands up, stalking over to him with a dangerous glint in his eyes. Without warning, he grasps him by the collar and pulls him down to eye-level. “And how can we believe anything this guy says?” he hisses at Loki, though the question is directed at the room. “He tried to destroy the city a few years ago, and now that he’s ‘reformed’ SHIELD suddenly has one of the biggest security breaches in history.”

The room goes silent, not even a breath to be heard as they anticipate Loki’s next words. Even Thor is leaning in listening, praying that his brother wouldn’t do something so foolish.

Loki glares at Sam with a hatred to rival hellfire and removes his hand from him theatrically. “Do you honestly believe I’d do something to put the one Earthling I care about in danger? Are you joking, or are you really that stupid?”

Sam doesn’t back down that easily, but Loki continues before he can speak, “In case you hadn’t noticed, she’s the only one here who even speaks to me. I wouldn’t expect you to understand, _Wilson_ , seeing as you treat her like she’s made of glass.” He turns to look at the others. “You all do. But she’s my… _friend_ -” the word makes him cringe inwardly, “And I’ll go and find her myself if I have to. It doesn’t look like any of you are doing much about this, anyway.”

While Sam stares at him unsure whether to trust what he says, Steve stands up and crosses his arms. “You’re right. We need to get a move on this before it’s too late. Thor, Sam, Loki and I will start combing the city. Tony and Bruce, trace the source of the security breach if you can.”

The Avengers scramble into their respective positions, the small group following Steve out of the room. Loki looks a little less than pleased to be ordered around, but he complies knowing that they’re losing time fast. 

The scientists stay behind, turning back to the wall of monitors. Tony attempts for the umpteenth time to restore JARVIS. The machine makes an obnoxious beep again, informing him that he still isn’t inserting the correct command. 

“What on Earth…” he grumbles, trying his personal override system next. Once again, the access fails, resulting in a loud beep. “I change these passwords every week, there’s only a couple of people who’d know them.” 

“Are any of your assistants here today?” Bruce asks, leaning back in his chair with a deep breath. He looks pretty calm given the situation, but he has too. If he lets the stress of your disappearance get to him they’ll have a much bigger (and greener) problem on their hands. 

Tony checks the time. “It’s pretty late, but I always have at least one person on hand in case something like this happens.”

Bruce stands up and begins leading him to the elevator. “You have an assistant working at two in the morning? That’s brutal.”

Tony follows quickly and presses the button for the main floor. “I guess I hadn’t thought about it- I just assume everyone’s as nocturnal as I am,” he smirks and shrugs. “It pays off when something like this happens, though.” 

Bruce nods at that, focusing on the wall ahead of him instead of the growing sense of dread in his stomach. The doors slide open with a gentle ping, revealing the lobby of the tower.

He and Tony jolt simultaneously at the scene in front of them. The marble flooring is smeared with blood, the bodies of two security guards lay motionless near the exit. At the front desk a woman- Tony’s assistant- is hunched over with her head against her keyboard, a puddle of red dried to the desk. 

“Oh fuck- oh fuck!” Tony hisses, taking slow steps across the lobby to take the woman’s pulse. The action proves unnecessary- his fingers meet icy cold skin and he knows she’s long gone. 

Bruce enters the room next, kneeling beside the fallen guards to inspect their wounds. The gore in front of him is enough to send him into the panic he’d been delaying until now. He begins to hyperventilate, his thoughts racing a mile a minute. Anger soon replaces his anxiety. The change hits him so fast he can’t contain it.

Tony snaps his head up at the sound of an animalistic roar. He only catches a flash of green before the giant beast breaks through the wall and disappears into the early-morning city.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting so close to the end! Thank you all so much for your support, it means a lot to me and it helps motivate me to keep this story going. 
> 
> WARNING: the next chapter is going to get dark with themes of torture, so read at your own risk!


	11. Chapter 11

**???**

They’re in your apartment. Your cheap IKEA furniture is broken to bits at your feet and your paintings are ruined in shreds. Something smells burning. Your skin smells burning. A hand,  
six hands? Find your wrists and ankles and bind them with zip ties.  
Zip ties make your hands purple with how tight they are. You start to cry.  


_Cry baby._  


Andrew is suddenly standing over you, his face still stuck in that smirk he  
wore when you killed him (accidentally).  


_Cry baby._  


He repeats, but his lips do not move. He’s laughing now and shoving your face in the mud  
and it’s raining again. It always rained in Castine.  
You don’t like the rain. When it’s raining all the children huddle in the tiny cafeteria  
and it gets so loud you can’t even hear yourself think.

His hand reaches out to push your face into the grass, but suddenly  
it’s Fischer’s hand, and you aren’t in the orphanage, you’re in a chair in a dark room. The walls are lined in metal and there’s a tub… is that blood?  
Oh God.  
The tub is full of blood.  
You look around as best as you can with his hand gripping your cheeks and  
see an operating table on the far end of the room. How did you get here? You’re hyperventilating, wheezing in through your nose because tape covers your mouth. This feels like a scene out of a second-rate horror movie but it’s real. You know it’s real because you’ve never before smelled your own flesh burning, and that’s not something you get from the cinema.  


-  


The scene shifts again and Andrew is dunking you in the pond behind the orphanage. The one  
You weren’t allowed to go near. He counts to sixty before releasing you. But only long enough  
To fill your lungs once before he grabs your neck and plunges you again. It takes near thirty  
minutes before a teacher comes to your rescue and by then your lips are blue.

You’re there again, but it isn’t a pond anymore. It looks more like a tank, the walls are clear enough to see moving blobs in inky black moving about. A crank whirls to life somewhere above you and the chair you’re strapped to lifts slowly until you are out of the water. You splutter and gag trying to take a deep breath. The inky blobs come into focus and become cloaked figures  
before your eyes, their hoods concealing their faces. A gold robe stands among them and you recognize your beady-eyed torturer immediately as Doctor Eric Fischer. His lips  
Are moving but it takes a moment for the water to drain from your ears to hear him properly.

_Had a bitch of a time getting out of confinement, but it was so worth it.  
I really must thank you for delivering us right into SHIELD’s blind spot._

Shield? What Shield? It sounds familiar but you can’t remember anymore. You’re shaking so hard the chair is creaking under your weight. You’re afraid it’ll snap the cords suspending it, but you can’t help it. You’re cold. You’re so cold. And you’re bleeding from somewhere. You can’t tell where exactly since everything hurts more than you can put into words, but you watch a steady drip of red fall and disperse into the water below you.

_You make quite the actress, Mädchen, but not even Nick Fury himself could fool our ranks. Hoffman is always one step ahead._

Nothing he’s saying means anything to you, so you only stare back blankly. He’s expecting some kind of answer, though, and when you don’t provide one he barks something to one of the black robes. A second later, you’re plunged back into the icy water. Over and over again.  
Holding your breath for sixty seconds, you realize, is effortless in comparison to this. You lose track of how many times the chair is dunked or for how long, and instead of gasping for air you eventually succumb to screaming and begging for it to end. The cult members only watch in reverent awe, none of them attempting to halt the process until what feels like hours later.  
-  
You’re dragged back to the steel room sometime later, a thin sheet thrown over your wet body. You’re so cold you can’t even move to sit up, so when a pair of footsteps follows you into the room you can only hold your breath in fear, praying that whatever death befall you be quick.  
The person comes to a halt and leans against the operating table, watching you in silence. When you’ve finally gained mobility to your limbs, you turn your head to face him.

The man is tall with pale skin and raven hair. He watches you with a kind smile, his arms folded gracefully over his chest and his ankles crossed. He looks so at ease. So pleasant.  
You’re breathless for a minute, completely awestruck.  
_It’s Loki,_ you realize, but that name means little to you. Who’s Loki?  
He comes to sit next to you, but it isn’t the floor beneath your legs, it’s a couch.  
Aisles lined with books swim into focus and soft daylight hits his face. You’re in a library. It’s just the two of you and everything feels so perfect in that moment. He’s still smiling at you  
and you feel like you could just reach out and kiss him.  
He diverts his eyes to your hair, running his fingers over the braids there.

_Everything went according to plan, really. Herrschaft has trusted members everywhere, including SHIELD. All I needed were a handful of inside men, and voila! I get access to hundreds of new mutant files, and Hoffman gets his little escapee back._

Your brow furrows as the words come from him. You don’t remember how you know Loki, but none of what he’s saying makes any sense to you.

_You injured him quite severely, he’s still recovering. Not to mention the other’s you murdered in your escape. Eighteen- no, nineteen was it? Nineteen of our valuable members. You’ll pay in  
blood for that, Mädchen._

He smirks at the last line, making chills climb up your spine.  


-  


You’re cold again. You don’t remember falling asleep on the steel floor, but that’s where you wake up, wearing only a training bra and briefs. Sitting up makes you bite your tongue in pain, every square inch of muscle on fire. There’s bruises all over your arms and legs, but you don’t remember how they got there. When did you get so skinny? You fear one bad fall could snap your limbs with how weak they look. Standing up makes your vision blacken and you have to grip the table for some time to gather your strength.

The sound of sliding metal across the room captures your attention, the whispering voices subsiding momentarily to give way to fear. You can feel your heart speeding up with every turn of the key in the numerous locks, and soon the door slides open. It isn’t Doctor Fischer, thank god, but a group of cult members. Your instinct reacts faster than your brain and you stick your hands out in compliance. Instead of grabbing you and taking you to another room to be tortured like you’ve grown to expect, a pair of hands reach out and push you to the floor. Someone else approaches, producing a barbed whip from behind their back. Your eyes widen in mild horror and you only have time to raise your arms to protect your face before the whip cracks over your side. Searing pain spreads there and you force back a scream. Another blow shreds through your skin like paper, and your vision goes white.

You’re fighting desperately to think of something else, anything else, but it’s useless. The pain is so intense that you literally cannot think. The only thing you can do to keep your sanity is count how many times the whip meets your skin. Seventeen… eighteen… nineteen. The lashings abruptly end after nineteen and a sob of relief shakes your bloody form.  
Nineteen. Something about that number feels familiar to you, but you don’t remember why. Everything until the present is foggy at best.  


-  


You wake up and assume it is morning because there is no light in your room, but your body hurts like you’ve been asleep a long time. A cult member in black comes in to dress your wounds. She tells you they can’t let you die of infection. You know they’re saving your life for something even more horrible later, but you can’t remember what it is. You think you will die.

You already feel dead.

She pours alcohol over the lashings and you don’t even feel it. She wraps them in cream cotton and smiles so sweetly at you as if you were a little girl going to the doctor for the first time.

_You should hit her._

Andrew tells you. You mumble that she’s only doing her job and the woman stares at you, reminding you that no one else hears what you do. Silly.

She finishes playing doctor with you and leaves momentarily, returning with a plain white robe. The second she wraps the gown around you, your heart sinks. The dread you’ve been trying to ignore hits you full force and you suddenly register the fact that this has happened before. You don’t know when but at some point you had been dressed in a white robe before being taken to your death.

The deja vu follows you out into the hallway, the woman holding you by the wrist to guide you. By the time the two of you reach a set of ornate double-doors, you’re shaking like a leaf. This is where you will die. This is the end.

In stark contrast to the rest of the building, the room is carpeted and the walls are decorated in tapestry. The lights are off, but hundreds of candles keep the space glowing brightly. Numerous robed people sit in pews, their heads bowed silently. It looks like a scene from a painting, and it quells your anxiety. How could you have been so scared of this? You feel pretty silly now.

You follow the woman to the front of the room where a beautifully carved, marble altar takes up space. She directs you to sit on the altar, and you comply. The stone is cold beneath you; you run your fingertips over the surface, admiring the smooth texture.

A man in a wheelchair stations himself beside you, and offers you a thin smile. You smile back. He looks awfully familiar, but you can’t remember why. He turns his attention to the congregation and speaks to them in a booming voice, reminding you of the pastor who taught Sundays at Saint Mary’s. The way this man talks, however, doesn’t make you think of the Christian God at all. It actually disturbs you a bit- he keeps going on about a ‘cleansing’ and ‘sacrificing.’

You really should have seen this coming, though. The same people who tortured you put you on a sacrificial altar, and you just thought it was some kind of cute little Sunday worship. You curse yourself for becoming so comfortable (candlelight gets you every time, dammit!). You’re scared again- the dread from before comes back even stronger. You try to climb off the altar, but the woman pushes you back down. Hard.

You grab her wrist and try to loosen her grip on you, but you’re so weak it doesn’t do a thing. Oh geez. This is bad. You really are going to die. She takes a scarf from the floor beside the altar and begins binding your wrists. Next comes your ankles, and no amount of struggling and kicking seems to deter her. She even covers your eyes, but she leaves your mouth unbound, whispering to you that your screams will please the Gods.

_Oh, man that’s fucked up._

You can only whimper in reply, your throat tight with tears.

_You just gonna lay there and cry about it? You’re so pathetic._

You don’t want to lay here, you want to escape this hell you’re in, if you could only free your hands-

“What about your magick? You don’t need your hands for that.”

You open your eyes and see the raven-haired man again. You’re back on the couch in  
the library and your limbs are free from their binds. He isn’t smiling like he usually is in  
your dreams. He looks very sad. Tired, too. His eyes are ringed darkly and his hair is  
unkempt.

“What’s the matter?” You whisper, resting your hands atop his. He looks even sadder then, and you suddenly feel bad for asking. “Sorry…”

“Listen to me,” he huffs, dismissing your apology with a wave of his hand. “You remember  
when I told you to be strong?”

No. “Yes,” you nod, not wanting to make him sad again.

“Now would probably be the best time to do so. We might be a while longer finding you,  
all our leads have run cold again. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry we’ve let you down.”

“I can do that,” you say, but it sounds hollow, even to you. You’ll be lucky to live through  
the next five minutes. But you’d rather spend them here with him, anyway. He makes you  
feel safe. You won’t have to watch the man in the wheelchair end your life.

“Promise me?”

Oh great. You’ve never been good at keeping promises. You really don’t want to let him down, though. The way he looks at you lets you know that he’ll be very sad once you’re gone. You don’t really remember him and you don’t really remember yourself, but you don’t want to let someone important to him die. Even if that person is you. Which means that you can’t let you die. Lord, this is getting confusing.

“Yeah, I promise.”

He smiles once, and the library is gone, replaced with blackness. The silk ties around your limbs return and the altar materializes beneath you. There’s a pain so intense and sudden in your chest that you’re overtaken with shock. The air is knocked out of you and you writhe and scream in your place. It’s too late, you realize. You’re too late to do anything. There’s a gaping hole somewhere in your chest. The pain is worse than any lashing you’ve ever received- any torturous experience you’ve ever been through. The pain soon makes everything else disappear, until it is only you and the hole and complete darkness.

Loki’s words still hang in the back of your mind. You made him a promise. You will not forgive yourself for dying here.


	12. I'm a Bad Bitch, You Can't Kill Me!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *author-chan hits blunt once* "ok but like... the only way I'll finish this work is if I get to make Loki SUPEr depressed in every chapter"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long ass chapter to make up for the wait. I've been working on this all day and my eyes are so strained I can barely read the shit I'm typing, so I apologize in advance for any typos.

There were four major reasons why the mission to save the witch failed.

The first of these being the security breach on all of Stark’s technology. As a member of SHIELD’s witness protection program, you’d been implanted with a miniscule tracking device, along with numerous recording devices affixed to your personal items should you ever be in danger, but all of these became useless when the system was disabled. Tony stark was later able to reboot the system the following day, but like the security footage from that day, each device had been corrupted with the same complex virus. Whoever planted it there really knew what they were doing to get past Stark himself.

The man is currently working on recovering the footage upstairs in his lab, isolating himself completely for the past few weeks. Loki briefly wonders if the man has slept at all during this time but quickly dismisses the question- that man rarely sleeps on a regular basis, let alone during a time of crisis. He feels something akin to sympathy at the thought. 

Despite the situation bringing the team closer together as they search for you, it’s difficult to dwell on their growing bond when you’re God knows where. The team’s growing trust in the silver-tongue has not gone unnoticed by him, and while at one time he may have craved the kinship his brother shared with the Avengers, he no longer has it in him to care. He’s become even more withdrawn, even more silent than he was before. He doesn’t need the friendship of Captain America or Iron Man- he needs you. He needs his best friend back. 

Thor tries each day to console him in whatever way he can, even if it is only sitting with him in the library in mournful silence, but it does little to thaw his heart. He’s angry. He’s so angry, and he stays up dreaming of new ways to mangle those who took you away, but he’s also terribly sad. Much sadder than he’d like to admit. Loki Laufeyson does not need friends, but it seems that at some point his heart made an exception for you without consulting him first. 

Doctor Banner has also tried to comfort the prince, but his kind words were much less welcome than Thor’s. The second item that hindered the rescue mission was The Hulk’s unfortunate timing in destroying a row of shops in the city. Loki later learned that during the time of Fischer’s escape, Banner’s stress levels forced him into transforming and tearing through the block. It took the team several hours to contain the beast back into the tower and get him back to Banner-state, and by then Herrschaft’s members were gone without a trace. 

Loki knows the man cannot control that part of him, but it doesn’t make him any less angry. The way he sees it, Banner let you get away when they could have prevented all of this. You’ve been missing for nearly a month now, and all because The Hulk impeded their search. So when Bruce came to Loki with comforting sentiments and a tray of chamomile tea, the prince only glared at him until he became uncomfortable and left him alone. 

“This seat taken?” Natasha Romanov is standing over the prince now, and it takes him a moment to realize that he is sitting in the Avenger’s commons. There’s light filtering in through the blinds, but the last time he looked out a window it was the pitch blackness of the night. Just how long has he been sitting here stuck in his own head?

Quickly snapping out of his deer-in-headlights-daze, he shakes his head and allows the woman to occupy the cushion of the sofa beside him. She has a stack of papers in her hands and for the first time all week, he feels a surge of hope. 

“Have the messages been decoded already?” He asks, not waiting for her reply before snatching the papers out of her hands. 

The third reason behind the mission failure was the interrogation with Fischer, during which he revealed several lines of code to Romanov and Fury. The messages had been sent to their top decoding team, but each one only proved to be gibberish to throw them off in the interrogation.

Or, so they thought. When Fury realized Fischer’s escape had been an inside job, he began investigating their decoding team. Lo and behold, the leader of the team had been a member of Herrschaft all along and had aided in Fischer’s escape. The codes that he had claimed were pure nonsense were in fact actual messages, and it took a new team only days to translate them. If they had known of his cooperation with SHIELD’s agents sooner, he wouldn’t have been able to escape. 

“Don’t get your hopes up,” Natasha laments, watching the prince become deflated as he skims the pages. “Fischer’s messages were only to give directions to his men. None of them give us any idea where they could be. It tells us how he gained intel on SHIELD, but I’m sure that’s not what you wanted to hear.”

 _It really isn’t,_ he wants to scream. He wants to tear the papers and shove them back in her face and demand that she bring him something of use, but instead he takes a deep breath and holds it until his temper has tamed itself. It isn’t Romanov’s fault. It’s Eric Fischer and his men who deserve his outburst, but not her. 

This information was supposed to get the investigation rolling again, but this just leaves them at another standstill. Loki drops the papers onto the table in front of him, focusing his energy on taking calming breaths so that panic will not consume him. This is not good at all.

“Will they give up?” he finds himself blurting out, stopping Romanov in her tracks to leave the room. “Will SHIELD drop the case?”

He’s scared to admit it, but if Fury decides that this mission is no longer worth his time, you really will be left for dead. With his freedom as limited as it is, he can’t find you on his own. He needs the Avengers’ help with this. 

Natasha is silent for an agonizing minute. She’s seen how this case has affected Loki on a personal level (let alone the rest of the team- it would seem you were pretty well liked by everyone during your stay here), so she wants to be kind. She really does. But Natasha Romanov does not ever sugar-coat things for anyone.

Finally, she goes with, “I don’t know,” satisfying her inner debate, and leaves the room. 

\-------------------------------

After rereading the documents from Natasha about ten times, Loki resigns himself to the library once more. He’s made himself a home on the sofa jammed between the romance and science fiction sections, the same sofa where he nearly kissed you. With each passing day, guilt gnaws at his chest for the way he fought with you then. The whole thing seems silly to him now. Oh, how bittersweet a fresh perspective can be. With the prospect of you never returning coiling around him like a snake, he suddenly wishes his magick could rewind time. He would have taken things slower- given you a chance to fully recover from your past before trying to tear down your defenses. Maybe if he had been more patient, you would have kissed him. 

He tried to demonstrate that patience when you apologized to him later- tried to show his willing to wait for you to heal- but now he worries that it had the opposite effect. He knew you were in pain. Even a blind man could see that. But he was selfish. He was scared of having his heart broken again (or worse, breaking yours), so he thought it better to ignore you. 

He removes a book slotted behind the pillows and flips to the page he left off on. The novel on ancient spells is one he’s been tackling for months, but the thing is thicker than than a brick and twice as heavy. Its language is one he’s unfamiliar with at best too, but it gives him something to take his mind away. 

This would also be the fourth major reason for the mission’s failure. If Loki were anywhere near as powerful a sorcerer as he once was, he could have found you the day you went missing. As something of a finger to the Allfather, he persists on in his studies, hoping to find some way to undo his curse and use his powers to save you. The best he’s come up with so far is astral projection, but even that much is spotty. He tries to contact you each and every time he falls asleep, but so far has only managed to catch glimpses of you (which could just as easily be passed off as dreams rather than actual astral projection). 

He’s also tried his hand at contacting his family in Asgard. With much struggling, he did manage to appear to his mother, Frigga, one night, but only for a brief moment. The woman had been enjoying a book by the fire in the silence of the palace parlour, and let out a tremendous shriek at the sight of her son. He tried to express his purpose for coming to her, but the Queen was much sooner ready to fuss over her child than listen to “something about Earthly politics.” He collided back into his physical body soon after and cursed his mother’s affectionate nature. Frigga is easily the most intelligent person he knows, but turns into an absolute blubbering mess when it comes to her sons. He then considered pleading with Heimdall to advocate for him at the throne and tell his parents of the situation here, but he knows better than to ask for help of those he’s betrayed in the past (considering that Odin would even hear anything to do with his adoptive son). It’s best to leave some bridges in ashes, he decided. 

After pouring over the book for hours, his hands have become numb from turning pages and writing translations of the script, and his eyes are weary. He reluctantly shuts the book and returns it to its hiding place amongst the pillows. He can feel the gentle tug of sleep encouraging him deeper into the sofa, and he tries in vain to fight back. 

He used to be haunted with nightmares most nights, remnants of his past life in Asgard still plaguing his subconscious, but now all he sees is you. He hears your exhausted laugh after a long day of training, sees the crooked way you smile. He quickly discovered that those nights are an even deeper hell than any nightmare because when he wakes up he can no longer find peace in the fact that they’re only dreams. Add in his inability to reach you, and he thinks he’ll go insane from it all. 

But, there’s only so many ways one can chase away sleep before the inevitable strikes. His body is still in a sitting position when his eyes fall shut.

\------------------------

In his dream, he hears you again. Everything is dark at first, but he’s very aware of how _off_ something is. His dreams are typically happy ones- memories of days spent in your company come back to haunt him- but the tone is wrong now. He can hear you crying somewhere, begging and pleading to be released. His stomach drops to his knees and he searches blindly, fighting desperately to find where your voice is coming from. 

A coherent sentence filters in through your sobbing, something about needing to free your hands to fight back, and he’s answering back before he can stop himself.

“What about your magick? You don’t need your hands for that,” his voice comes out as a desperate croak, hanging in the air. If this is what he thinks it is, he can’t waste any time- he needs to help you before he loses the connection. 

Loki holds his breath as your crying ceases, everything falling still as he waits for some reply. 

He blinks, and he’s back in the library in the same position he fell asleep in. He hisses angrily, ready to smack himself. He was so close to finding you. If only his powers were stronger-

A shifting of weight on the cushion beside him reels his attention back to the present where a very sickly version of yourself is staring at him. You’re wearing some kind of cloak, too big to cover the wounds on your shoulders and knees that poke out of the fabric. Your skin is so discolored he has a difficult time distinguishing dirt from bruises, grime from blood. Your face is sunken and ashy, a dullness in your eyes that, frankly, scares him more than the wounds. The very sight is enough to form a lump in his throat, and he’s unable to speak. He’s so happy to see that you’re still alive, but what good is alive when you’re living in such suffering?

It occurs to him that something must have changed for you to be with him now. When he managed to project back to Asgard, _he_ was the one visiting his mother, he didn’t bring her back to Earth with him. _You’re_ the one who sought him out this time, not the other way around. 

He can’t dwell on his racing thoughts for too long, because your voice cuts through the air. “What’s the matter?”

Oh, Gods. You’re being tortured in some remote location, and you ask him what the matter with him is. He could scold you for asking ridiculous questions, but that’s not important right now. You probably don’t have long to chat.

“Sorry-”

“Listen to me,” he huffs, waving his hand dismissively. He can think of a million questions he could ask right now, but decides first to tell you something that’s been on his mind for weeks. “Do you remember when I told you to be strong?”

A flicker of hesitation crosses your face and something he didn’t even know to be worried about hits him. You _do_ remember that, right?

“Yes…”

The lump in his throat feels heavier now, and he struggles with his next words. “Now would probably be the best time to do so. We might be a while longer finding you, all our leads have run cold again. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry we’ve let you down.” He clears his throat and bites back tears. _Keep it in like a winner, Loki!_

“I can do that,” you reply. There’s a trace of a smile in your tone, but your expression remains empty. 

He isn’t sure why he asks you to promise him that you’ll stay strong after that- it just sort of comes out. He knows you don’t have any claim over your safety at the moment, but something about a verbal agreement makes him feel more at ease. It’s naive sure, but… well, naive is all he really has left right now. That and sheer faith in some cosmic miracle that will return you to him. 

You take a long, aching minute to respond. He can see the storm behind your eyes as you carefully mull over your response. He tries not to let that worry him.

Finally, “Yeah, I promise.”

He smiles then, that naive relief filling him. Now if he can just ask you if you know where you are, he can get you out of this mess. Before he can speak, though, your body flickers and disappears, blown away like the light of a candle. He’s stuck staring at the place you once sat, fear and shock bubbling up his throat and expelling themselves in a strangled sort of cry. 

You’re gone. His one chance at saving you and all he could do was make you promise to be strong? What kind of bullshit advice is that?? He could have figured out a way to get to you, or maybe teach you some kind of defense spell, or-

The ache in his throat is suddenly too much to bear and his eyes swim with tears. Dear Yggdrasil, what is the matter with him? He can’t be getting emotional right now, you’re still in danger. 

He leaves the couch and crosses the threshold to the elevator, entering the metal box. He stands still, glaring at the panel of buttons through his blurry vision. His natural instinct is to go to Thor with this new information, as he’s grown more accustomed to relying on his brother over the last month, but he isn’t so sure about being seen like this. He doesn’t cry in front of people- that’s kind of a big ‘don’t’ on his list of social know-how. And even if he weren’t all misty-eyed for his astral-projected-friend (lover? No… you’re more something in between the two… lover sounds a little more serious than he’d ever like to be with someone), how idiotic would he sound relaying such a tale to him?

It would seem that fate would decide for him to see Thor regardless. During his inner-conflict, the lift had taken him to the common floor. The doors glide open to reveal his golden-haired brother, a smile capturing his face when he sees Loki in the elevator.

“There you are! I was about to come looking for you. Er- are you alright?” his grin melts away when he sees the look on Loki’s face, shortly after punching in the button to his desired floor. 

The latter quickly scrubs the tears from his face. “Ye-” his voice is a mere croak. He tries again, “Yes. I’m fine.”

Thor almost tears up himself at the sight. He and Loki don’t always get along (in fact they honestly couldn’t stand each other up until recently), but he still hates to see him like this. This wouldn’t be the first time he’s caught his brother wandering restlessly around the tower, evidence of tears on his face. He normally doesn’t comment on it though- Loki, he’s learned, has a very fragile ego. It’s better to just ignore these things with him. This time, he gives him a consolatory squeeze on the shoulder. Not a hug, no- nothing that would scare him away. Just something to let him know that his brother cares about him.

“Weep no more Loki, I have good news for you.”

\------------------------------

Everything had been arranged perfectly for the ceremony that morning. Every seat in the chapel room was occupied with cult members, all of them weeping and praying to the Gods on this sacred day. Director Hoffman sits up front, overseeing the session as always. He’s smiling wide today. A very special guest will be joining them soon.

A great creaking draws the attention of the congregation to the doors, where a white-robed woman stands out against the backdrop of greys and blacks. His smile is splitting when he watches her be dragged along by an attendant. 

Seeing you walk towards him with such soulless eyes sends a ripple of fear through him and loosens the chipper look on his face. For a moment he is transported back to the day when some phantom force tore a hole in his spine, and the weeks that followed filled with pain and vivid night terrors. He blinks, and the memory melts away. You won’t hurt him again- he had been more careful this time around. He assigned his best doctor to monitor you, after all, and it isn’t possible that you’ve remained unbroken all this time. 

It’s evident in the way you sit on the altar yourself- no coaxing necessary. The way that you stare blankly ahead like a puppet. The fear is gone when he sees this; the ceremony will continue without a hitch. 

His assistant produces the blood-stained scarves and begins to bind you. Hoffman faces his audience and begins his sermon, trying not to flinch when you struggle against the woman in his peripheral view. 

“Good morning, saints. I thank you all for your prayers this morning, they will invite pure spirits among us. The sacred lamb has been brought to us, so we may begin our ceremony.”

He turns carefully in his wheelchair to retrieve his blade as not to put strain on his back. The knife is carved from bone with a corded tang. The blade is only as long as his forefinger, but just the right size to sink through ribs and puncture lungs. 

“This mutant is an abomination to the Gods above. She is a product of mankind’s greed for power. By destroying her, we will cleanse the Earth of our disgusting crimes against heaven.”

The room erupts into noise, some weeping with joy and others chanting for Hoffman to kill you. He smiles and raises the knife above his head, earning another round of triumphant cries. 

Hoffman angles himself to face you, the grin fading from him. You’ve stopped struggling- your eyes are closed as if in a peaceful sleep. It makes him angry. He’s spent every waking moment since his last encounter with you dreaming up new ways to extract revenge. One of the very monsters he’s worked so hard to exterminate took away the mobility of his legs. He will never walk again because of you, and here you are below his blade... sleeping? You deserve a much slower death than this, but the ceremony must go on.

He waits a moment for the noise to die down, wanting the full attention of the cult to witness your murder here. Once all is quiet, he sinks the knife into your sternum, reveling in the warmth of your blood as it covers his hands. 

He hadn’t realized he was holding his breath until your body goes limp, which he then releases in a chuckle. He had no reason to be afraid. You died as quietly as you came in- the perfectly demure lamb. 

He grins at his congregation and swings the bloody blade above his head again, awaiting the singing and applause that typically follows these things, but it never comes. Most of the group stares back in uncontained horror, some even turning back and stumbling for the exit. Someone behind him shrieks, and he turns back just in time to see his attendant being ripped in two like a sheet of paper. 

The spray of blood coats your face, but you continue to stare at Hoffman unaffected. You’re sitting upright on the altar again, the scarves in shreds on the floor. Your skin almost seems to glow under the candlelight, gold and red mixing like a mosaic on your body. The gold seeps into your hair, the braids there slowly unweaving themselves as if controlled by an invisible force of their own. Even he can feel the power dripping from where you sit.

He turns sharply in the wheelchair, aiming to flee with the rest of the screaming congregation, but the action sends him tumbling down the short set of stairs. You slide off of the altar and approach him, your movements slow and taunting. 

“I-Impossible…” he whispers, unable to formulate much more than that in his petrified state. 

You don’t respond in words, but he thinks he catches a smile flash on your face. It’s gone the next moment, though, so he may have imagined it. Regardless, it’s the last thing his mind registers before a searing pain splits his stomach and his vision is void. 

—————————

The white sunlight is melting the frost off of the grass outside. Much of the greenery outside the bunker is dead, but a few patches of grass and weeds still dot the dirt with radiance. Even the pale blue of the sky meeting a horizon of bare land looks picturesque to you after your eyes had become accustomed to metal and stone for so long.

This is an alright place to die. The sun will warm your remains for the birds to enjoy and soon the ground will swallow you up and recycle your body. Maybe grass will grow where your corpse once lay. Maybe a whole damn field of grass. 

And that’s okay with you. Grandmother always taught you the importance of all life on Earth. About how everything is one big cycle of death and how beautiful decaying things really are. You thought it was pretty morbid as a kid, but you understand now. Maybe you’ll see her in the afterlife. Or maybe you’ll be reincarnated as the flowers she always wore in her hair. 

The dirt feels warm underneath you. The Earth is pulsing with power and you’re bleeding right into it, feeding the energy that makes trees grow. You don’t feel the pain anymore, just a soft kind of throbbing very far away. It tickles your knees and climbs up to your chest. The tickling is strongest there.

In your mind, somewhere far away from your body, you feel just a little disappointed in yourself.

You did so well. You were strong, just like you promised. You don’t quite remember how it happened, but suddenly there was something coursing through you on the altar. It felt as if someone else was controlling your body, snapping the wheelchair man in half like a twig. You feel bad when you remember it. The others were just praying, they probably didn’t deserve to die like they did. You regret it, but it wasn’t really you, you don’t think. Something feral inside of you took over. 

It took some time to find an exit, and the door was barred by several gates. You vaguely remember metal crumbling like paper under your hands. Next thing you know, you’re climbing a set of stairs and opening a hatch, sunlight warming your face for the first time in forever. 

You only made it a few steps before the invisible force holding your body together faded away, leaving you a crumpled mess in the dirt. The hole in your chest is still oozing blood onto the ground below. You didn’t think a human had so much blood in their body, but now that it’s pooling out around you, you sit and marvel at the sheer quantity of it. 

Even though you’re still dying, you’re glad you made it out of there. Dying in that hell with only flames to claim your body would be the cruelest kind of punishment. This death, surrounded by sunshine and weeds, is gentle.

You only wish you could see that man again. Lukas, was it? Er… it was definitely something with an L. That sad look he had on his face swims into your vision, and you feel bad for not trying harder to live. Maybe you could have saved yourself if things had been different. No matter, he’ll be over it eventually. Everyone must grieve at some point. 

But… perhaps you regret not trying harder for yourself. Even after all the terrible shit you’ve gone through, you could have started new somewhere- left all of this behind you. Formed new memories to replace these ones of pain. It doesn’t matter much now, you figure. You can already feel death pulling you into a quiet place.

The man’s sorrowful expression is still filling your vision as you drift off, and he’s saying something to you. Something you can’t make out. You want to swat him away and tell him to let you rest, but you can’t find your lips. 

The next moment, the horizon is changing and spinning and you’re staring up at the open sky. You’re in the arms of the man- you can feel it now. Some sort of power begins to pulse into you, returning some strength to your limbs. With that, though, the pain returns, and it feels as if you’ve come crashing back into your own body.

It hurts- dear God, it hurts. You begin to writhe in place, wishing that he’d just let you die already. You’ve been through enough, haven’t you? Why is your subconscious punishing you with such painful dreams?

“____, I need you to hold on, don’t let go on me…”

Man, fuck this dream. Holding on hurts like a bitch. You were much happier in that sleepy state in death’s hands. You start to drift off again, fighting to fall back into that sleep, but the magick returns. It courses through your blood, keeping your heart pumping and your lungs drawing air. It’s his magick. He’s the one doing this to you. 

After what feels like a long time in his arms, you’re being passed off onto a stretcher, a dozen and a half concerned faces filling your sight. One of them is putting pressure on your chest, making you choke back a scream that fills your throat. Another is strapping some kind of mask to your nose. It itches. You try to take it off, but L Guy holds your hand to stop you.

You can just barely turn your head to look at him. You’re in some kind of vehicle, big enough for a handful of doctors to be rushing around you with high-tech equipment in their arms. The man is staring at you with an unreadable expression, dirt and sweat smeared over his pale skin. 

A nurse stands next to him and takes your arm, locating a vein and injecting you with a clear liquid faster than it takes for you to wonder what the hell it is. The effect is instant, turning you into a sleepy pile of goo that doesn’t feel like she was just stabbed through the sternum. 

Just before your brain is thrown into the best nap you’ll probably ever take, you watch L Guy crack into laughter.

“What in Odin’s beard happened to your hair, witch?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I made this into a series, would you guys be interested in reading it? any works after this one would definitely be more light-hearted, tho. all this cult shit gets hard to write. Also, if I did, what kind of stuff would u want to see in it?? more action? more smooching? Feed me ideas, Im a slut for literally any inspiration/motivation at this point


	13. No Bad Vibes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sort of an epilogue.

You weren’t allowed to leave your suite in the tower for a long time because apparently something horrible had happened to you.

You see it in your nightmares- a glimpse into the black hole of your memory where pain lives- but during the day it drifts away from you. You wake up with the bad taste of a dream on your tongue, but can’t ever remember what it was about. 

You’re trying not to think about it. It was beyond horrifying to wake up in the infirmary with twenty stitches over your heart, only able to remember events from a month ago. You’ve been told the story countless times from the different perspectives of the Avengers, about Eric Fischer and his men infiltrating SHIELD and kidnapping you for the second time, but none of it sounds real. 

Sam comes to see you every day (which gives you a rush of deja vu to when you first came to stay here), just to check on you and talk. You know he’s filing everything you say away in his mind to report back to his teammates, but that’s ok. Everyone is already tip-toeing around you as it is and you’ve just grown to ignore it. 

When you told him about the dreams you’ve been having, he went all serious again. He came to the same realization as you that your memory loss is not a symptom of amnesia, but more likely a result of your brain blocking things out. It makes sense- and you’re secretly glad for it. Some people might feel more at ease with that knowledge, but you’re a firm believer that ignorance is bliss. In this case, anyway. 

You fear that dwelling on the cause of some of your injuries will consume you with panic (and it does some nights).

Whatever happened there changed you, though. When you came to in the infirmary, your hair had somehow sprung free of its tight braids and framed your face in a curtain of frizz. You know no one in Herrschaft could have done such a thing- those braids were pleated by your grandmother with her own magick, designed to seal your power. Andrew was killed just trying to cut one of them. Your theory is that if your life had been in great danger, you could have broken free from the seal and unleashed your full potential. 

A fresh, c-shaped scar on your chest comes to mind. That theory is especially damning considering what you were told by Doctor Banner upon waking. The laceration to your heart should have killed you- _would_ have killed you if you were a normal person. When you were flown back to the tower, you were near dead from blood loss, but the wound had miraculously begun the healing process already. Whatever surge of power had broken the seal on your powers also prevented you from dying. 

That surge of power is also responsible for the deaths of multiple Herrschaft members. Another reason for your temporary isolation was that SHIELD needed time to deliberate your punishment for your crimes. It’s an interesting case, to say the least. On one hand, you murdered numerous people in blind rage during your escape, but on the other hand, you had just been tortured for a month and weren’t exactly in a sane state of mind. 

Ultimately, your crimes were dismissed on the terms that you stay in contact with SHIELD to monitor your mental well-being (which was a nice way of them saying, “if you aren’t completely under control, it’s right back to confinement for you little missy! Oh and disregard the fact that this whole thing was technically our fault, and you were just unfortunate enough to get caught up in all of it”). As it would so happen, the judicial process for mutants within a powerful government program is full of interesting loopholes and foggy rules. No matter- you got off lucky and you’ll take lucky when you can get it.

Something else was distinctively different when you woke up, besides the powerful magick flowing through you. The voices had dwindled to near non-existent. The occasional hallucinations that brought you back to Herrschaft were missing as well. It’s a different kind of absence from your life, though. After coming to stay in the tower when you experienced a brief radio silence from your whispers, it frightened you. You wanted to cling to the past, which the voices encouraged. 

If there’s one thing that you remember from that hellish month is that you reached some sort of epiphany. In your mind you can remember coming to a peaceful conclusion and letting go of all the sorrow. At some point you forgave the kids who teased you and you forgave yourself for not saying goodbye to your grandmother. You think you forgave the cult members, too. That one was much harder, but there’s a significant difference in your mind when you remember your time in captivity. It’s a distant sort of pain. 

Things just feel normal for the first time in a long time. Which is completely bizarre, but not unwelcome. The flashbacks still keep you up most nights- still make you forget how to breathe- but you know now that you can finally move on. You aren’t alone, either, you have friends now who make a world of difference in your recovery. 

You were warmed to see Tony Stark and Steve Rogers set aside their differences to help you after your return. They train with you most mornings, slowly getting you back into working order. They never argue during your physical therapy, which might count again as tip-toeing, but you’re grateful nonetheless. Tony upped the security measures in your dorm as well, and although you thanked him for the effort, you knew the extra protection wouldn’t be necessary. The bad voodoo looming over you for the longest time is finally gone. You’re safe. 

Doctor Banner had also helped tremendously. He offered a listening ear on multiple occasions and took on the responsibility of monitoring your magick energy so you wouldn’t have to deal with tedious appointments with strangers. He’s always patient when the tests and samples become too much and you need to breathe. 

To your surprise, Natasha Romanov also stepped in to be a source of comfort during your recovery. An expert on fresh-starts, she called herself. After one particularly bad night, she pulled you into her bathroom and told you stories of past missions while she cut your hair. You didn’t know the woman could make you laugh so hard and you felt a pang of regret for not seeking out her friendship sooner. And for an assassin without the craftsmanship of a hairdresser, she did a damn good job with your enormous mane (you struggle to call that nest “hair” at this point). You laughed and cried together like a couple of teenage girls until sunrise when you swept up the pile of curls and parted ways. 

The face you were most longing to see, however, had eluded you for weeks. You knew Loki was likely still upset over your previous dispute, but you thought he would come to see you after being kidnapped and nearly killed at least. According to Tony, Loki was a big leader in the investigation and was ultimately the one who saved your life. So why couldn’t he just come and see you already? 

Weeks after your return, you find yourself on the roof overlooking the city. Even the air smells sweeter high above the dirty streets, and it whips your cheeks and nose into a cold rouge. You have to cling to the edge for support; your legs still lack strength as it is, and being far above the world makes you dizzier than usual. 

It’s then that you finally see him again. The door behind you creaks open and he slinks onto the roof, refusing to meet your eyes, even as he comes to stand right in front of you. He’s frail. It’s less evident in his physical self than it is in his soul; his aura bleeds into yours when you touch his cheek and the green mass of power that once defined him is shrunken and blue. His soul aches and cries at the touch and you understand that he missed you as much as you missed him. 

He can’t speak right away. He opens his mouth but has trouble forming any words, so he opts instead to inspect you. The t-shirt you’re wearing reveals some of the scourge marks on your skin, the ones that are still pink and in that halfway period between wound and scar, and he traces them with an agonizing gentleness.

You’re trying to be patient, but the tension is beginning to kill you. And you would know- it takes a lot to do that apparently. “Why didn’t you see me?”

Your voice is weaker than you would have liked. You want to grab him and make him apologize for making you think about him so much.

He finally meets your eyes and it’s all anger and sadness in his expression. Guilt is eating away at him and you feel sort of sorry for bringing it up.

“I wanted to. I know that I should have been there for you, but I just couldn’t do it.” He looks away again, focusing intently on where his fingers are laced in yours. The words strike you and sting long after he’s said them. You know you hurt his feelings, but is this really the time to be angry at you over something that was said months ago?

“And why not?” you don’t bother to stop the emotion in your tone anymore. Hot, angry tears pool down your cheek and you know you must look like a child, but you don’t care.

His winces and he’s quick to wipe away the wet patches on your cheeks. “It’s because I-! It’s because-” he panics to find the right words. “It’s because I like you, alright? I care about you more than anyone else on this God forsaken planet. When I found you there in the dirt, barely alive, it made me realize that. And it scared the hell out of me.” He finishes his speech in one breath and by now he’s grabbing you by the shoulders as if you’ll run off. “I couldn’t see you because I was scared I’d ruin my chances again by doing something rash.”

“... _oh_.” That’s all you can come up with for a long second. So… he isn’t angry? You’re so relieved to know that your closest friend doesn’t in fact hate you, but- hold on, did he just confess his feelings for you?

You knew he liked you- that wasn’t a secret. This is just so much more serious than it was back when he tried to kiss you. It’s even more jarring to realize that you feel the same way.

He’s still staring at you with an expectant look, so you don’t hesitate this time when you meet his lips. You can feel him melt with relief against you, and even his soul seems to swell with joy. There he is. This is the Loki you know. 

When he pulls away, his eyes are sparkling like starlight and his smile has you struck. “You cut your hair!” he exclaims and runs his fingers through the locks trimmed to chin-length. 

“I needed a fresh start,” you smile, basking in his touch. You decide not to poke fun at the fact that he only just noticed the foot of hair missing from you even though he’s stood on the roof with you for a good fifteen minutes now. 

“It looks good,” he extols with that dazzling smile. Soon it morphs into a smirk and he says, “It looks better than whatever haystack you were passing for hair before, anyway.” 

You punch him in the arm with a glare. “Just couldn’t help yourself, huh?”

“I had to get one in, I’m done now I promise,” he snickers, rubbing the spot where you hit him. 

You’re about to return his snide remark with one of you own, but a golden light pours over his features and you’re smitten once more. You both turn to the source of the orange glow and watch the sun fill the sky with every hue between red and blue. The clouds form pink patterns across the sky, dancing in oval shapes before breaking apart and plunging themselves over the horizon. Window-covered buildings bend to the will of the sun and glow yellow, sending shards of light every which way. All the cars and people below the tower seem to fall silent in reverent awe of the sky.

You can’t remember ever seeing a sunset so beautiful before, and Loki must think so to because he lets out a content sigh and takes your hand in his. The two of you watch until the yellow orb has dipped itself into the ocean and the brilliance of the moon takes its place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thank you for all of the support I've received throughout this story. This is actually gonna be the first fan fiction I've actually finished because I usually lose motivation halfway :') ALSO I had a lot of help in editing from a friend of mine, so if you're reading this (you know who you are) I appreciate all of your help! 
> 
> Stay tuned for part two. It's gonna be a rad time.


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